Abnormality (Hiatus)
by Melchocho
Summary: Trevor, Franklin and Michael try to adjust to life after the heist. With nothing to do after the biggest, baddest robbery, they've developed some sense of normalcy, even happiness. But Trevor is soon forced to purge all the toxic pain he's been harboring, and face truths he wasn't ready for. He murders one person too many, and it's up to Michael and Franklin to fix it. *T/M Trikey*
1. Chapter 1

Was this normal? Being normal?

Not perfectly normal. Franklin grabbed some more beer from his fridge, and the bottle of whiskey. Juggling those and a glass for Michael, he went back into the spacious living room and set everything down in front of his friends. Some action comedy was playing on the large new TV and Trevor was going off about some nonsense, and finding the movie a lot more fun than it actually was. Chop was gnawing a squeaky toy of Lambchop T got him as a gag gift. It was unmanly and ridiculous but Chop kept it with him all the time now.

Michael sat back and drank another shot. Trevor elbowed him while in the middle of a rant, so Michael calmly poured out another shot, and spilled it on Trevor.

"My couch dawg!" Franklin threw a pillow at Michael's face.

"Sorry F" Michael laughed.

"Now I got T stank dripping all on it"

"Hey" Trevor said "I washed yester- uh-"

"Yeah 'UH'" Frankin gave him his sweater to dry himself and the couch. "Like, you washed the UH-ther month"

"It's alcohol T" Michael smiled. "Kills germs, you know."

There was a strangeness between them all. Trevor might have been oblivious actually, but not entirely. The last heist was great and exciting and for better or for worse, they'd agreed to stay together. All friends. Friends with nothing to do anymore except… be friends. There was a giant elephant in the room- a feeling of awkwardness about just how to continue on as friends. With no insane jobs to do, were they just too mismatched? A thug, a living Casablanca dvd, and a rabid possum.

Nah. The elephant got smaller everyday. The creases in Michael's and Trevor's faces seemed to have faded a little. Franklin had started to see Mike be a little more humorous and not just sarcastic. Trevor started to fill his time with mindless enjoyment and not just random violence. Well, kinda. He was still running TPE, but he was quieter about it. He was spending a little more time at the Vanilla Unicorn. At first they thought he was fucking the girls. Nope. He was pimping them. But it was kind of nice seeing T not get his hands too dirty for once.

Michael had resigned to the fact that his marriage wasn't going to work. They tried for so long, and tried one last time to give it their best shot. It didn't work though. Amanda and him just weren't happy as a couple, and they were too tired to fight anymore. They still argued but this was the closest they ever were to being actually friends. The pressure was off now, that fake life and blaming and wanting more, trying to squeeze blood out of stone. It was done. They actually laughed about most of their problems, most of them. They tried and failed and that was that, but as just two adults, they got along pretty well.

And Franklin had stopped giving a damn about what people thought of him. His old friends and family were never going to be happy with him. When he was broke, he was always gonna be broke and talked down to. When he was rich, they wanted handouts and for him to save them, all the while being put down for having money, a home, a life. Fuck them. When they got over themselves they could come over, but when they wanted to throw their tantrums, they could stay the fuck in the hood.

It was actually nice getting to know each other. The little crap. Franklin could hold a handstand for five minutes, even walking on his hands. Michael could do Peter Griffin impressions, and Stan Smith impressions. It was rare, but it was funny. Trevor liked two scoops of vanilla ice cream in his coffee, and would actually brush his teeth if you got him vanilla toothpaste. In fact, his teeth were amazing for all the shit he's been into. He hadn't had marks from picking his face in months and Michael couldn't remember the last time T had blood on his clothes.

Michael tugged at Trevor's damp sleeve. "Say, let's get you some new clothes, business man."

"Only if you put them on me, sugarti-"

There was a fast and hard knocking at the door. Not expecting any more company, Franklin walked to the door and called "Who?"

The knocks came again. Franklin opened the door. An old, gaudy women well passed her prime stood in the door. Her pumps were scuffed and her ridiculously bright leggings were clashing with her animal print top. She reeked of something, a chemical kind of smell and pharmacy perfume.

"Bring Trevor" she said through her cigarette.

"He ain't here" Franklin shot.

"That whole Sandy Shores place says he's over here. I need to stay at his place for a few months- what the hell am I telling you for? Let me in."

"That's very interesting. You should go back and wait for him." Franklin was closing the door on her before he heard a voice say "Mom?"

The woman pushed her way in. Chop growled with the toy in his mouth.

"Mother," Trevor said, sounding very unlike himself. Nervous and anxious, his movements were shaky and hyper. "Where'd you go? I-I got the stuff- I still have it-"

"No drink?"

"You can't just walk-" Franklin started but Michael gestured for him to stop. The woman choked on her smoky inhale and started to cough. Trevor tried to help but was pushed off.

Her cough cleared and she rubbed at her sagging neck, before pointing her cigarette at Michael. "Townley?"

"De Santa, Miss Betty." He said from his seat.

"I thought you were-" she paused, and her surprised turned into an eye roll. "Trevor…" She turned to her son. "Why did you lie to me? Why would you say you're not gay?"

He shook his head and placed a hand on her arm. "Mom, no, I-"

"Up here alone with men. With _him_. After he took another guy's name-"

Franklin and Mike looked at each other, in a mix of surprise at her assumption and worry about Trevor.

Trevor managed to open a beer and hold it out to his mother, but his hands were shaking violently and the liquid was jumping out of the bottle. "N-No, no, I'm not! We did jobs together, we- we did a great job, you'll be so proud! We-we-we-"

"Hand jobs ain't a thing to be proud of." She said, looking away and snubbing him.

"Mrs. Phillps!" Michael said sternly. "I think you should just take the beer, and listen for a sec-"

"You always were a shitty influence on my son." She dropped the cigarette on the floor and crushed it.

Franklin looked around and the room seemed to be on pause. Michael looked as thought he was reading a very boring book as he looked into the woman's sagging face. She looked cheap and just had this gross vibe about her, manipulating and entitled. But it was Trevor that made him feel sick. He was meek and had an expression he'd never had before - Guilt. Terror. That, and something close to what addicts had when they saw him, this begging needing look. Like a child lost in a store.

The room started moving again and before Franklin could go off on her, she was bitching again.

"You, always _you_ he was following. Michael this, Michael that. Following you around leaving his poor old mother alone!"

"Mom no, Im sor-"

"Ryan was right, trying to tell me his brother was gay but I didn't believe it. Bet you manipulated him, Michael, tried to make it look like you were the one who cared for him, so he would stop seeing me!" She turned quickly. "This is why you didn't visit, why you didn't break me out?! I was rotting away in there-" She was stomping around now and smacked the drink from Trevor's hand "While you were here doing NOTHING and waiting on a guy who doesn't CARE bout you! Not you or me or-"

"Michael's my frie-"

"**I'm** your friend! I'm your mother and I'm _old_! And you picked him over me, over family! Nine months I carried you and you betray me like the snake you are!" She turned back to Michael "I'm taking back my boy, I need him!" She pretended to sob but her face was dry. She continued her tirade as Chop barked at her, offended at the loud stranger. She smacked Michael hard across the face, and to everyone's surprise was knocked to the floor by Trevor. Trevor was trying to hold her still, apologizing and begging her to stop. There was a different look in his face and as Franklin glanced at Michael, he was sure he'd seen it too. Trevor was stuck somewhere in his mind, somewhere between whatever had gone on in the past, and Tornado Trevor, and this new Trevor who just wanted vanilla coffee.

Michael tried to help restrain and separate, but her arms and legs had gotten loose and she swung and kicked at Michael. In quick succession, she clawed Michael's face, kicked him somewhere on the leg, and landed a punch aimed at his heart.

What happened then seemed to all happen in the same moment. Writhing on the floor with his friend and this crazy woman, Michael felt something move through Trevor, a shiver, a compulsion. There was that shake his body did before going on a rampage, almost a seizure.

The noise her head made when the bottle _smacked smacked smacked_ against it was disgusting. The glass broke and was forced into her skin over and over until Trevor started smashing it again. The bits of glass chipped and broke off until he was only holding the neck of the bottle and hitting her more with his fist.

Franklin grabbed Trevor's wrist and forced him into sitting between his legs on the floor, one arm wrapped around to hold him close, the other squeezing to try and make Trevor drop the glass.

Michael moved away just a little from the body. Still sideways on the floor he lifted his head and stared unblinking at Trevor. Franklin didn't know what to be worried about more, the deer-in-headlights stare from Michael or the inhuman stillness of Trevor.

Another shiver from Trevor, and the glass fell against the floor. He made noises as if in pain, trying to choke something back, and then let out a loud, anguished wail. It rang and echoed off the walls of the house, and haunted it. It was scary, an exorcism of something that had been rotting in Trevor and poisoned the air until the sound faded.

"Car" Michael finally wheezed. Franklin nodded, relieved to have something to do besides watch helplessly. He had to hoist Trevor up and practically carry him out.

"Take Chop."

He was going to turn and ask why but Michael stopped him. "JUST FUCKING TAKE CHOP AND GET IN THE BACK SEAT!" It wasn't bossy, but it was almost panicked. He managed to get Trevor into the Escalade and sat in the middle. Chop whined, unsure about Trevor's blankness and Franklin's speedy muttering. "C'mon man, look at me. T, T, man, look. It's ok, look at me. Look, it's cool, I got you." He had a hand on T's shoulder, the other on his cheek trying to get him to turn his head. "Trev, man…ok, ok, ok-ok-ok, don't say nuthin, just… just… we got you, man."

Sometime later Franklin heard the back of the car open, a dragging noise, shoving. He didn't look back. Michael got in the front and drove.

"How is he?" He said softly.

"He's fine," Franklin squeezed Trevor's shoulder. "Cause we're here."

That was a lie, but Trevor needed it. Maybe. Franklin couldn't read Trevor now. Trevor wasn't even present.


	2. Chapter 2

Franklin didn't know where they were. They drove for hours and it was dark. They had only stopped quickly at a gas station to grab some bread and water and to let Chop out to pee. They tried every so often to talk to Trevor but nothing happened.

They stopped somewhere in the woods. Michael told Franklin to stay in the car and "If he wakes up, keep him in here."

He could just barely hear the shovel start moving soil out in the distance. Ten minutes passed in silence. He put an arm around Trevor's shoulders, and just stared forwards. If he could feel anything right now, it would be surprise that he was comforting someone who just committed matricide. The thought was brushed away by apathy. Trevor didn't become Trevor by accident. Things made him this way. She made him this way. She made him crumple like paper at the sight of her. Trevor was a loose cannon and volatile, but he was aware and had morality. There was something about Trevor, and Franklin didn't know or care what it was, because when the dust settled, it was that mystery element that shined though. Trevor was realer than anyone and that was worth respect.

So it didn't feel good at all when Trevor finally bolted out the door and Franklin was trying to tackle him down.

Wordlessly Trevor struggled free and kept running. He lunged at the black garbage bags that contained his mother, but Michael somehow grabbed him by the shirt with both hands and slammed him up against a tree.

Pinning him there he yelled "YOU LISTEN TO MEEE". Franklin looked around, even though there was no one to hear for miles. Trevor tried to get free but he was damn near convulsing again.

"YOU LISTEN TO ME NOW, T! CUT THE CRAP! I'M TIRED OF YOU GOING AFTER HER LIKE SHE'S ANYTHING. SHE AIN'T SHIT. SHE TREATS YOU LIKE CRAP AND I'VE WATCHED IT HAPPEN. ANYONE WHO DOES THAT TO YOU IS GARBAGE. **FUCK. ING. ****_GARBAGE_**_._"

"Don't talk about-!"

"ABOUT WHAT TREVOR! WHAT DID SHE EVER DO FOR YOU THAT YOU WOULD WANT ME TO DO TO MY KIDS, HUH?"

Trevor had tears coming down his red face. "She- she-"

"ANSWER ME!"

Trevor couldn't. Michael finally let go and Trevor slumped into a ball, picking at his face and trembling.

"… F. F man, I'm sorry. Could you-"

"Chill M, I got it." Franklin, softly as he could as to not set Trevor off again, placed the woman in the hole and filled it back up. Michael stood to obscure Trevor's sight of it all the while.

Chop whined and tried to get attention from Trevor, nudging and licking at his elbow. To Michael's surprise, Trevor eventually put a hand on Chop's head, and gave a small rub.

Franklin finished, walked all the way to the car, put the shovel away and came back. Seeing that neither of his friends moved, he want over, dropped to his knees, and uncharacteristically hugged him. He didn't know what else to do. Michael was seemingly ready to go after Trevor if he made the wrong move. Trevor was in shambles. Whether he was worried or just scared by the sight of him like this, he didn't know, but maybe if he could hold this man together, he'd go back to normal. Nothing he'd seen was quite as terrifying as seeing this indestructible force suddenly so weak.

"Get in the car" Michael said, rubbing his face and trying to think.

The ride home was strange again. But Trevor moved, if only to swear and shake his head, or grip the seats. Franklin was dropped off but felt unsure about leaving the two alone. Michael reassured him, said "I know him. He might be safer with just me." Safer, or just less dangerous to others, Franklin wondered.

"I'll be up. You call if something goes down, M."

"Yeah, yeah. Hey Franklin? I really appreciate, you know. Everything."

"Don't sweat it, 'pops'."

—  
He threw the wipes he used to clean the blood of Trevor's hands and face under the seat of the car. They pulled up to a hotel, just outside of Los Santos.  
"Albert. Albert Phillips. With an F."  
Trevor glanced at Michael when he said that, then went back to a blank nothing.  
It was a pretty empty place. They went into their room which was surprisingly ok for what the place looked like outside. Trevor sat in the desk chair, and Michael moved the trash bin over to him. He looked sick.

He pulled the blanket off the nicely made bed and put it around Trevor, who just slightly showed signs of displeasure at this. Michael quietly moved the complementary pen away, worried what Trevor might do with it. He made coffee and got out some pastries from the small fridge.

But Trevor didn't eat, and Trevor didn't drink. So he sat on the floor, by Trevor and just waited.

He was at a loss for what to do. Trevor was barley quiet even on sneaky missions, and even when he slept he was always turning. He'd never been quite this worried. Even when he thought Trevor was dead, he busied himself with Amanda and the kids and never really let himself think of it or mourn properly-

Dead.

Trevor's mother was dead. Trevor thought Michael was dead. Is this what he was like?

Michael looked into Trevor's face. Did he wail, anguished, and shake and cry back then? It was the weirdest, hardest thing seeing Trevor cry. It just didn't fit.

_I mourned you_

Michael didn't know what to do, but try and take charge. Try and show stability to ease Trevor's shaken state.  
"Let's get you cleaned up."  
Trevor didn't move so Michael said "alright" and wheeled the chair towards the bathroom. Trevor started to function again for a moment. He got up and huffed in annoyance, trying to close the door but Michael stopped it with the chair.

"ah ah."

"Don't."

"I'm not leaving you alone in there. I got no idea what you're gonna do."

"Wash my _ASS_" Trevor yelled.

"Terrific. I'll join you. Get in the shower."

Trevor was somewhere between not giving a fuck and pissed, but pissed was a feeling right?

Trevor got undressed and threw his old rags on the floor. Michael rolled his eyes, but looked at Trevor's backside as he stepped in. He'd seen more of Trevor than anyone, being that Trevor spent a quarter of his life at least partially naked. It was better than usual, no scrapes or places where he picked skin. No stitches or anything. Up till now the heist was the best thing to ever happen. Trevor was living what seemed to almost be a normal life this past year.

Then today happened. It seemed like the universe had just up and decided that they were all going to have to deal with all their issues, all at once. Michael was ready, he successfully raised a family and a protege, his wife wasn't really his wife anymore, and Trevor was back. That all came from dealing with his problems.

Trevor was standing under the water, and it spattered off him and all around the bathroom, since he'd ignored the curtain. His body gave another strange shiver and he changed it from shower to faucet. He sat in the tub and rocked a bit, holding his head.  
Michael reached over to check the water and adjusted the temperature. He grabbed the little hotel soap and a washcloth, and lathered it.

"no" Trevor said, snatching the washcloth. Michael gave him a look, half annoyed, half asking permission.

Trevor stuck it under the water and curled up again, hiding his face. Michael lathered it again and started washing his back. The water turned dark every so often, so he began setting the water to run and stop, to drain and full.

"You broke your arms that time" Michael said quietly. "And I had to bathe you then. Remember that place?"  
Maybe it wasn't wise to remind Trevor of robberies gone bad but at this point he needed to coax some kind of reaction, make sure Trevor was still inside. It didn't work, but Trevor gave an absent nod.

"And you told me to get you a girl to play with your cock afterwards, since you couldn't."

Nothing.

"After you joked about me doin' it first. Remember?"

Trevor leaned forward and dunked his face in the water. Michael almost panicked but Trevor came back up and shook dirty water everywhere. Michael was almost relieved until he realized Trevor was crying again. He rinsed the small towel and put on some hotel shampoo.

Maybe this was good? He thought as he started washing his hair. Maybe he needed to cry and get it out. Maybe if they talked about good times Trevor would stop fighting him so much.

He stopped messed with Trevor's hair for a second.

"It's filling in," he said. "… Maybe from how good you been doin'."

Trevor shook his head slowly. Michael leaned in closer. "You've been doing good, T."

Trevor turned slowly to Michael. If there were feelings in that face somewhere, it was something like disgust and shock and anger.

"I killed. My mother." He growled. "I'm _trash_… The son of '_garbage_'."

Michael wasn't relieved at the anger like he thought. He fucked up again. Somehow he tried to fix things and fucked up, again.

Trevor looked back at the tile wall in front of him. Michael ignored his slight trembling and reached to bring down the shower head. He washed the shampoo out. He tried to push his luck, and washed his hair again. It was really dirty. Trevor didn't move. He cleaned it a total of three times, the last time mixing conditioner in. He wasn't sure why. It felt like doing something. It felt like helping.

Trevor got out and sauntered over to the bed. He laid down on it still wet and breathed heavily. Michael went over to the other side. He stripped down to his boxer briefs and took off his undershirt. He winced a little. Trevor looked at Michael chest, seeing the mark over where he was hit. It was right on the scar, where Michael had been shot.

Michael laid in the bed, facing Trevor. He was determined to do something. Have something be said. Trevor kept looking at the marks. Michael took the thin sheet and covered them both. With nothing to see, Trevor rolled over.  
Michael knocked once on Trevor's back with the back of his hand.

"T. Hey, T…"

"…"

"You're not trash. Not by a long shot."

It was silent for a minute before he heard a barley audible "shut up, chubs".


	3. Chapter 3

I wrote chapters 1-3 all today, and at this point am about to start on chapter four. Please know this was done with little planning as I really tend to just run with my ideas. I'm holding this chapter back for the night just so this isn't all shoved together at once. I may go back and flesh out chapters a bit but as I said, I need to get more familiar with the game and story. I also dont want to make it too wordy and describe everything to the point of dragging on.

here's chapter three!

"NO"  
"Is that the only word you know anymore?"  
"No, no, fucking no!"  
"My dudes" Franklin said coming out of his house. "Good fucking morning. What happened?"  
Trevor was wearing some new jeans, and a plaid button shirt, buttoned incorrectly. Michael was still in his suit, now a bit wrinkled.  
"Franklin I need you to come with me," Michael said, tired.  
"What's. Happening."  
"I made the mistake of saying maybe Trevor should talk to my therapist-"  
"You soft prick!"  
"And I can't do this by myself so I'd like your company."  
Franklin sighed. "Well, it's nice to see you being… yourself, T."  
"Suck a fuck Michael." He was completely ignoring Franklin.  
"You're going to drive your therapist crazy." Franklin said to Michael.  
"Better make you an appointment too, before that happens."

Truth be told, it was the therapist's day off. But Michael said it was an emergency and he'd be more than compensated.

Franklin leaned against the door with his gun ready. Michael and Trevor were on the couch. Trevor wouldn't speak and after 45 minutes if trying, the therapist finally said "Ok, maybe he doesn't need to talk." Exasperated, he handed a pad and pen to Trevor.  
"Write. Draw. Whatever you want. They don't need to hear. Think right now. Just out down whatever you want, what's bothering you or something completely unrelated- just whatever you want."

Trevor eyed the doctor, then undid his shirt and gestured at his tattoo, the smile on his face saying "fuck you!"  
"Oh dear…" The therapist said. "T-tell me about that."

Trevor spoke finally, but he was all over the place. Suddenly, he was spilling stories about murder and sex and particularly memorable shits he's taken. He talked in small snippets about abuse, but nothing new to Michael or Franklin, and then went on to talk about various traitors and people who "had it coming". He went on for a long time, only stopping for water and to piss in a trash bin when he was told not to touch the fish tank. He asked about the doctors life and interests and how ice cream and coffee should be sold together all the time. It all ended with him shoving a branch from the lucky bamboo plant down his throat and he threw up into his piss.

"Word vomit" he said. "I don't have a terrible gag reflex. But sometimes if you really get something in there it all comes out."  
He plopped back down on the couch, missing a boot. Franklin had to try hard not to laugh. Despite all the ranting as movement and all, Trevor's hair was fuller and shiny and he looked like some kind of almost handsome lumberjack.  
Michael looked at Trevor and back the his therapist. "None of that was what this was for."  
"O-on the contrary, Mr. De Santa. This… This is very, very good." He nodded firmly at Trevor at each syllable.  
Michael blinked and looked at everyone around him. "Doc, did you not hear ANYTHING? Calm your psychology-boner for a second, got it?"

"Look," he said, organizing the piles of notes he took on everything. "I just-"

"Should have stayed in shrink school, ya shit," Michael barked. "You just gonna use this shit to write another fucking book?"  
"No. Friedlander is a poor excuse for a therapist and didn't seem to put his patients before himself, obviously."  
He handed another cup of water to Trevor. "I know you didn't want to be here, and you are bursting at the seems to make fun of my profession, but hold that and answer me this. How do you _feel_?"  
"Oh, well, like this," Trevor reached over and groped Michael's penis harshly.

"Cu-UT IT OUT!" Michael said trying to get away. Franklin laughed and put his gun down on a small table.

"Dang T, you really-" Trevor sprang up, knocked Franklin aside with a "make it up to you later!" and just like that he was gone.  
Michael sank back into the seat. He sighed, and then, as mockingly as his tiredness would allow, said "VERY VERY GOOD."

It was a week before Michael saw any sign of Trevor again. Not that he wasn't looking. He searched high and low, at Sandy Shores and the Vanilla Unicorn and bars and every skank covered corner. Trevor wasn't in the hospital or bumming around Franklin's house. It wasn't until his ninth drive up to Sandy Shores that he saw him, still wearing the new clothes. He got out, tried to call out to him. But he stole someone's motorcycle and sped off before Michael could catch up.

The therapist had been calling him, every other day for a month. He didn't pick up. He didn't know what to do. Trying to not give a fuck about T never ended well, and it was even more exhausting than all the running around he'd been doing. The phone rang again and he rubbed his temples. My god, shut up, he thought. Yeah Trevor is a therapist's wet dream but there's no point in talking. T was probably never going back to any shrink.

Amanda was getting annoyed. She started to complain more again, saying how Michael keeps running around after Trevor who obviously doesn't want to be found. How he'll show up again like he always magically does. How you can't keep running after someone who was unbalanced and such trailer trash-

"DONT YOU EVER CALL HIM THAT!" Michael demanded, slamming his drink on the counter, spilling what was left in it. "Don't you ever call him trash! Don't give me your namaste bullshit about whose balanced and whose not! It's not your business anymore. Jesus! _Fuck_!"

He ignored whatever the fuck else she said in response and went over to see Franklin, maybe go to a bar.

So they did. But it wasn't fun.  
"Yo," Franklin said. "I hate going out with you when you're pissed. What happened? You find something out about T?"

"Nah," he said, swirling his drink. "It's… It's stupid fucking Amanda."

"I thought it was cool."

"No, its not 'cool'. I just want to know where T is, and she's trying to make me feel bad for it. I don't give a shit what she thinks about him, fact is, he was there before her, and he'll be there after her. I just wish I knew where he fuck he is!"

Franklin shook his head, then laughed a little from his seat at their booth. "She's always been jealous of Trev, huh? That's always what it sounds like. Glad she's bouncing soon."

"Jealous?" Michael asked. "She's pissed cause she thinks I'm just snubbing her. She doesn't know what happened. She's not jealous of T, just too self important. She's mad no matter what has my attention, even if she has no claim to it."

"Jealous. Jealous, and she has a grudge against Trevor. But she can't deck Trevor." he took a sip. "So you take the hit."

Michael stared with his mouth slightly open. "Heh, n-no, its not like some girl fight or something, she-"

"She's a stripper."

"EX. Ex stripper…"

"Thats a lot of attention for nothing."

"Yeah. So?"

"You married her. You married a stripper." Franklin licked his lips and learned closer. "She won you, and thought it was some big ass adventure, and you we so suave, with your ties n shit. And it probably made her friends jealous." He observed Michael's face. It wasn't in any disagreement per se, so he continued. "And then she stopped stripping. She thought she won the game. And maybe if she could keep you for herself, she could feel bitches hating on her far and wide, forever and ever."

Michael had a strange look on his face. He wanted to say "are you fucking kidding me", he wondered how Franklin could have come up with this stupid idea but he didn't interrupt. He wanted to hear all of it.

"You had so much going on that she wasn't a part of. She's not a thief or even smart. She doesn't crack jokes and she's always this tight ass, naggin' ass voice in the background of your phone calls. She sucked the life out of you and couldn't stand when Trevor was around. Trevor is like and adrenaline shot or that machine that shocks you till you wake up. You'd think those things aren't good for you, but they could save your life."

Franklin raised his empty glass when the silence lasted too long. "Order me some more."

"Since when are you a fucking doctor," Michael said finally. "How'd you cook all that up?"

"You guys didn't tell me a lot of shit for a long time. I had to connect the dots somehow. Before this happened and everythin' was coo', You talked more. You talked about her like you were reading a bad book. When you talk about T and getting in trouble and farting on your face when you slept-"

"ONCE" Michael said in a harsh whisper.

"Heh, no." Franklin smirked. "Anyway, you talk about it like that shit like it cures cancer. Like every word earns you a dollar. Ya always were a package deal."

"How do you… look, I, I dunno what to think right now. But you're right, it's a package deal."

"You remember when Chop got out, and got lost back in January?"

"Yeah."

"And after we found him, you both tried to punk me about being a scared little pussy?"

"We like the dog too, F."

"Right now, you look like I felt."

Michael's eyebrows raised slightly.

"Pussy nigga." Franklin said.


	4. Chapter 4

I'm not a big fan of "songfics" but I added some songs in for the sake of old man friendship fluff. Go to youtube if you'd like and enter these, theyre in order. Everyone needs more songs for their Trikey Playlist!

/watch?v=t5vFOpVGjVc

and

/watch?v=C1AHec7sfZ8

Two months went passed. Michael convinced his wife he started a more legitimate job through some connection. It worked, string along enough vague details and it sounds like the truth. He was really going around and searching. Sometimes for Trevor. Sometimes for new suits. Sometimes for anywhere he could be for the day, just so he wasn't home or in the car for hours and hours and goddamn it stop fucking calling my phone.

He wondered lazily about Lester and his new life. Figured Lester could maybe find Trevor real quick, but he didn't want to ask. Lester was still enjoying the post heist euphoria, doing whatever conspiracy theorists do in their spare time. Besides, Lester and Trevor never really mixed.

He wrinkled his nose at a bad smell from somewhere in the diner. He was sleepy and really didn't need to smell random people's funk. He wasn't even hungry, just eating to fill time. He got up to leave, forgetting to tip.

"Guess I'll take it then," As someone reached over to pick up the rest of Michael's omelet.  
"T-Trevor!"  
"Wussup man." He said, shoveling food into his mouth and taking a seat. Michael sat down to, trying to keep his voice down.

"T where the fuck have you been?!" He wanted to be pissed off but he was too relieved.

"Oh, you know, 'round. Hey, you! Coffee, vanilla ice cream, chop chop!"

"Where the hell did you go that day? When I saw you on the bike?!"

" A. Round." he said, exaggerating the movement of his mouth. His lips were dry and cracked. His clothes had gotten dirty and he seemed thinner.

"You been eating right, Mikey?" Trevor asked. "You look less… you know."

"No. No T. I haven't." He said angrily, still trying to watch his volume. "I've been busting my ass looking for you. Why the hell are you so skinny?"

"Oh Mikey," He said with his mouth full. "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful."

"I'll pop your eyes out with that fork if i don't get some goddamn answers!"

"I've been a good boy. Just checking up on some business at the Shores." He pretended to act bashful and batted his eyelashes as he added "And I've been going to therapy."

The woman came out with Trevor's order, and he smiled widely at the silence Michael had to force silence until she left. Michael didn't notice he had stopped breathing while holding in his temper.

He took a deep inhale and hissed it all out with "_Therapy?"_

Trevor swirled the fork above the food, and rested his head on his hand. "Just need someone to talk to sometimes."

"So why don't you talk to me instead of hiding in the sand doing god knows what?! Why not crash at Franklin's or, or, or fucking s_omething_?!"

Trevor looked for something in Michael's face before just saying "Just. Need someone. To talk to. Not you. Sometimes."

Michael sat back. Not him?

He tried to rationalize that this is why he took him to a shrink in the first place, but damn if that didn't sting. He looked at his phone on the table, ashamed. His voicemail had been full for a week. He shook his head a little. He didn't want to listen to them.  
"Where you going after this, T?" He still looked at the phone. Trevor shrugged. "Wherever."

"Amanda will be out for the weekend. Looking at places to stay. Jimmy is with his best idiot for the week and Tracey is still with her roommate." He watched Trevor gulp down the coffee. "Maybe you could stay with me those days?"

"Uh. Y-yeah, maybe."

"Trevor, stop flying off. I know you're using again, just…ah, just stay with me for a while. You don't know how worried you got me."

"Look. Im flattered. Really." Trevor got up and burped. "but I got things to work through, ya know? Really making the most of this meee time. See, thats the thing. It not you, it's meee. So, if I can, I'll try to visit you then. If not, you'll see me soon. Promise, Mikey- but hey! Hey." He winked. "Stay beautiful." And he left.

Michael squinted at the door as if trying to read something small written across it.

Was I just fucking stood up?

—  
Franklin was right. Of course he was right. Franklin was sharp. Chip off the old block. Michael loved Jimmy, but he had to admit, Franklin was a breath of fresh air. Willing to listen, a quick thinker, eager to get things done. Patient but firm. In retrospect, maybe he shouldn't have been surprised that Franklin had started a small dog training group. Chop was his now, and with so much spare time, he needed to find something to do. Franklin was a good kid. Michael smiled as he laid in the living room on his couch.

But when the hell did he get to be such a wise ass? Who was he kidding. Amanda and the kids were greedy. Tracey was going to find some way to ruin her life, either embarrass herself or marry some idiot. Jimmy meant well but who sells a fucking boat? Amanda was on her way out though and that was a relief. He laid there on his couch in his big empty house with an old movie playing on the TV. His usual loneliness tried to creep up but it was muted by other things. He was in his forties. But only his forties. And its not like women didn't like him. Shit, they loved him. He smiled for a second, realizing that he could date all he wanted, real dates, no strippers. Meet real people and relax. Maybe, maybe, settle down with someone nice. Maybe not fall in love, but just find someone enjoyable.

Not from here. No. It was 12:30 pm and he was sprawled out waiting for some guy to call. He breathed through his nose and sighed. Was it some cosmic joke for how he treated Amanda? No. No, this was just Trevor. Trevor who has just lost his shitty, shitty, shitty, abusive, manipulative mother. Trevor who had to find a way to function without her-

No. Trevor who had to get used to being free. Trevor fought back. Trevor made a choice. Michael smiled, wide. My god, he was so proud of Trevor. Trevor Phillips was going to therapy. Trevor was actually trying to cope, yeah, with some meth and Michael hated that, but he was going to therapy. The thought made him laugh as he laid there. People thought therapy was for crazy people but it was the most normal thing Trevor had done in years.

Loud music startled Michael, causing him to fall off the couch. (Is he really going out with him? Well there she is, lets ask her.) It was coming from his room. He grabbed a gun he had hidden under the couch, just to be safe, and made his way upstairs. (Betty is that Jimmy's ring your wearing? Mm hmm.) He went quietly up the stairs, stepping carefully. (Gee it must be great riding with him. Is he picking you up after school today? mm-mm…)  
(By the way, where'd you meet him?)

Michael swung his slightly open bedroom door all the way. A figure facing away from him started swaying, exaggeratedly.  
"I MET HIM AT THE CANDY STOO-ORE." the person crooned loudly and he went to face Michael. "He turned around and smiled at me- you get the picture?"

Michael's reaction was priceless as Trevor, in one of Amanda's many, never used dresses, did his best model walk over. (Yes we see).

"That's when I fell for," Trevor turned and mooned Michael, flipping up the skirt of the dress. "THE LEADER OF THE PACK." He shook his butt with each syllable.

Michael wanted to strangle him. Wondering how he climbed so silently up the side of his house to break in, he lowered the gun, muttering something about heart attacks, and lowered the music. He went downstairs to get some coffee going. Trevor put the volume back up and kept crooning. By the sound of things being knocked over and breaking, he knew Trevor was dancing his way down to join him.

"HE STOOD THERE AND ASKED ME WHY-YY," Trevor was loud but Michael was singing, much more pleasantly, to the coffee pot. "But all I could do was cry. I'm sorry I hurt you, The Leader of the Pack."

The song continued on, about a Grease 2 style romance, as Trevor Cha-cha-slided into the kitchen. The song was old, from 1964 and the stock motorcycle sounds added to the campy feeling, but they kept singing about their imaginary sad relationship and the predictable motorcycle accident as Trevor started the eggs.  
"I felt so helpless, what could I dooo? Remembering all the things we've been through," With pretend pained expressions, the put their faces close. "In school they both stop and stare. I can't hide my tears, but I don't care!"  
Trevor thrust his imaginary bust at Michael while the both ended in there deepest, manliest voices. "I'll never forget you, The Leader of the Pack!"  
They laughed hard as the fake motorcycle sounds and screeching tired implied the poor teenager veered off into some terrible, life ending accident.  
Trevor kept swaying and singing to whatever played next as he fucked up and popped the yolks on what were supposed to be sunny side up eggs. Before he started to assault the frying pain and mess up the kitchen, Michael bumped him out of the way, forked the eggs onto his own plate, and started fresh eggs for Trevor. Trevor took over the coffee, pulling out strawberry ice-cream from the freezer. He pointed at it and shook his head disappointed while he shimmied and bopped around. Michael decided he'd buy some food to stash for Trevor later. Trevor scooped the ice-cream right into the pot, splashed in some whole milk, replacing the lyrics in this current song with "This is why you're faaat", and spooned in some sugar.

The finally plopped down on the couch. Frank Sinatra was playing now, "I've got you under my skin". The song sang about how ingrained some person was in Sinatra, how despite the disbelief they could or should stay around each other, he'd try simply out of the joy of it. Soon Michael was singing alone, sitting but slouching over his food, as Trevor lay back, legs splayed open, and just listened.

He turned to look at Trevor and continued, smiling. "I'd sacrifice anything, come what might, for the sake of having you near. In spite of a warning voice that comes in the night (he gestured towards the upstairs, indicating this was about Amanda) And repeats, how it yells in my ear! 'Don't you know, little fool, you never can win. Why not use your mentality? Step up, Wake up to reality.' But each time I do, just the thought of you makes me stop just before I begin. Cause I got you… under my skin."

Trevor broke his zoned out expression and crooned back "Yes I got you…" He roughly lifted his skirt and grabbed the entirety of his cock and balls. "Under my saaaack."

Michael rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying to not have to look at his commando buddy. "Looking lovely in that… that crap, T. I'm glad you're here."  
Trevor pressed the heel of his pump into Michael's cheek. "You're welcome."  
Michael pushed the heel away calmly before jumping a bit and slamming the foot onto the couch. "WHY are you wearing heels?!"

"They're in great condition, they were at this discount store and my size isn't east to find-"

Michael realized it wasn't one of Amanda's dresses, Trevor couldn't fit into those, except maybe at his thinnest after a harsh drug binge.

"Did you go out and buy a dress?"

"A few." It wasn't that Trevor hadn't even worn dresses, but he usually just stole it from people he robbed or killed or from skanks who forgot them at his place.

"You climbed my house in that?"

"No!" Trevor sat up. "And ruin these babies? I'd break my ankles trying. My shit's upstairs. I changed after I got in."

"So elegant, T."

"What? No ladies at home. Not Mandy or Trace or Jimbo. I mean lord knows you don't have much testosterone in ya anyway, but I can't just let it fizzle out."

"Is that what you're doing' these days, shooting up estrogen?"

"Might as well, I'm bored as all crap, not shooting' up any people n all."

"Why?" Michael asked. "We have fun now. Stop trying to touch the stove while it's hot. We're investors now. Don't get your hands dirty for nothing, keep those french tips nice for me."

Trevor extended his hand to admire the dirt under his nails, or at least the ones that he didn't chew yet. "You really think I should get a manicure?"

"Get some fake nails so long you couldn't possible do anything bad."

Trevor wiggled his hips suggestively. "Nothing? C'mon man, I'd pop my balls trying to jerk off if I had that."

Michael tried to say it straight but started laughing mid sentence. "Then while it heals you could talk about trying new hobbies with your therapist."

"Goodman is a good, good man." he pointed a warning finger at Michael. "He donates to animal shelters. He's fostering a mess of small kittens, you should see 'em. Their mom is gorgeous."

Michael took another sip of coffee right out of the pot. "…So… he's really helping you? I mean, thats good."

"It's something to do." Trevor said. Michael messed with an app on the phone that lowered the music volume from upstairs somehow. Trevor bit back an insult about fancy rich people gadgets and turned on the tv. Michael changed the channel from his phone and Trevor looked a little disgusted. "Lazy. Remote's right here."

"...Anything, ah, anything to hear about? I know you don't wanna tell me much right now but… what's the progress?" Michael shrugged. Didn't hurt to ask.

"Sure, sure… we uh, we worked through, you know, Mrs. Madrazo."

"R-Really? Was, um…how'd that go?"

"She… chumped me, Mikey."

"What?" Michael had figured she was just crazy. Stockholm Syndrome and all that.

"She knew what she was doing the whole time. Telling me I was good and she appreciated that, right off the bat. She baited me, and it was weak as shit but I took it." He took a swig from the coffee pot. "She was so nice to me and so caring and washed my clothes. She was like a, like a, like-like-like a," He paused, and had another strange shiver.

"Like a real girlfriend," Michael said, grabbing his shoulder, trying to stop whatever mental switch was trying to occur. "Like a girlfriend right?"

"Yeah, yeah, like… like that."

"Go on. Yeah, you worked through it, right? You worked though, thats great! Real great, T."

"She lied to me. You know how I deal with backstabbers."

"Aw, T. No, no, you didn't!"

"No, I didn't." Trevor wiggled a foot out of his shoe. "I'm tired of that right now. I wanted to get back at her and-" Trevor's arms were tensed and his eyes went wild. "wanted to just UGH just! just-!"

"Talk?" Michael said. Keep Trevor from thinking about violence. Shit, maybe asking was a bad idea.

"Yeah, talk," He said through his clenched teeth. He exhaled and his shoulders dropped. "So… we… talked. I didn't want to go see her. I was so happy and… and, and SHE FUCK-" He forced himself to breath deep. "She used that as shield to keep herself from being chopped into little tiny pulpy pieces!"

Michael placed a hand on Trevor's knee, the other still on his shoulder. "T, look me in the face. Look. T. That's amazing, what you did."

Trevor looked confused.

"What you didn't do, rather. You've never, ever, changed course like that!"

"I did it because she lied to me!"

"No, not that! You didn't go kill her. You didn't blow up her car or anything! You made a choice for yourself, for your own good, that didn't get you in trouble!"

Trevor looked deep into Michael's eyes, trying to read the espression. It was like he had just seen a magic trick, or like he discovered some previously unknown piece of the world.

"…No stove."

"Right!" Michael grabbed him into a big hug. "No hot stove, no burned fingers, no burned people!"

Trevors whole body loosened, and he patted Michael's back. "Yeah, I know. But…It don't feel right. It doesn't feel level." Michael pulled back.

"T, don't worry about level. She's a mob boss wife and she's crazy and her shits gonna catch up to her, but you! You, my friend, you just leveled out!"

"I don't feel level."

"That's because no one rewarded you yet. That's usually your prize, shooting people up. But we're gonna change that. We're gonna use 'Positive Reinforcement'."  
Trevor scrunched his eyebrows trying to understand. "Are you spewing Franklin's Ceasar Millan bullshit at me?"  
"Name what you want." He got up excitedly and started pacing, waving his arms for emphasis. "Whatever you want, I'll but the whole damn ice cream truck, we can go on my boat, we can go paintballin'- 'member you said I couldn't beat you? Name it! Name it, name it!"

Trevor was laying back on the couch again, legs spread, following the spectacle. Eyebrows raised, he raised his eyes from something up to Michael's face. "We could start with that."  
Michael looked down. "Wha, what happen-Djsh-shj-shit!" He sat in an armchair and tried to cover the happy erection he was sporting.

"T! T, I-i-i-i-"

"Michael Townley! Im flattered! All this excitement over me? Ah. Man, my hearts beating so hard I can feel it make something in between my dick and my balls pulse. Oh, brother, you are tickling my fancy." He was hunched over now, supporting his elbows on his thighs.  
Michael searched in vain for what to say. "Mikey, it's all natural. But you might be on to something- Positive reinforcement indeed! Guess your balls still work after all, glad you got em back from that harpy." He threw a small pillow at Michael. "Get dressed, bring me my clothes."  
Michael wordlessly went upstairs, still looking mortified.

Trevor sat back up, mumbled something about sympathy boners being contagious, and willed his own away silently. Maybe he needed to stop letting every small sign of affection from people get to him.  
Just a natural, involuntary reaction.


	5. Chapter 5

Sorry if this is dragging. The meat of the story will be back after this chapter! Till then enjoy these two old dudes hanging out.

Michael wanted to know what was wrong with teenagers these days, but to be honest, besides being dumber, he knew teenagers we're all rude little shits. He knew these kids probably were murderers or bank thieves though. That didn't trigger sympathy from Trevor, who borderline abusively took out a gang of cocky guys buy himself with is new-found paintball talent.

This place seemed to play music that would pump the kids up. Make them feel like they were actually doing something adventurous. He went a few rounds against Trevor, and shit these paintballs hurt, but there was a real thrill in here somewhere, even without money at stake. Hiding, ducking, shooting, bright pastel colors, and Trevor, fleeting. He was so hard to catch and it was so satisfying to land a hit. They we're kids again, and fuck all the years that went by. They were in their prime and always would be.

Trevor nearly peed. He got Michael pretty much everywhere except his chest. He limped awkwardly in his fit of laughter.

"Very funny. I still busted you up too."

"Ass shots are against the rules." Trevor said as they removed their gear. "God, bruised the meat down to the bone."

They were sweaty and breathing deep when they got back in the car. They called Franklin, let him know Trevor turned up and the good news about not executing Mrs. Madrazo. Franklin was pleased, asked if Trevor needed to stay over. They told him not now, he'd stay with Michael. Trevor asked about the dogs, and Franklin was happy to say he was really handling things well.

"But T man, look. I'm real glad to hear you're good. But you fucking disappear again, I will find you. It's not just Chop, I got some smart fuckers who will sniff your dirty ass drawers out in a second."

"Gotcha buddy."

"You got This, T. You can do it. 'Ey! Hol' up." Music started to play over the call.

"Franky man, don't." Trevor laughed but Franklin continued.

"'Snap ya fingers, take a step, you can do it all by yourself!' Say it T!"

"I'm T-Pain, you know me, blah blah blah, something close at three." Trevor sang to humor him.

"You got this, baby. Walk this shit out, but uh…"

"What F?" Michael asked.

Lamar's voice came through the call. "Why you two sound all deep breathing n shit?"

"Hello Lamar. Didn't know you were there." Michael said.

"You gonna answer the question? (Franklin growled "Shut up man, aint none of your business!")"

"We went paintballin," Trevor started. "Good thing you weren't there. Probably couldn't-"

"Do not begin to challenge me, dawg. Ya paint on each other balls all you want."

"Feisty! Challenge accepted. We'll figure out a date."

"Whatever. You do you homie. Don't go running off on niggas again."

"Ciao!" Trevor ended the call. "We need to get him better friends. Can't raise a boy around that kind of influence. Nosy prick."

The rest of the day passed well. They looked funny wherever they went, trying to act like nothing was sore. They finally got Trevor more clothes, more shoes, some sunglasses. When they ate, Michael purposefully adjusted whatever Trevor ordered. Extra bacon, whipped cream on this, peanuts on the sundae, make everything real greasy.

"Jesus Mikey, just order me a shot of whatever they fry all this shit in, why don't you?"

Michael tuned to the server. "Will we actually get a shot of that?"

The teenager looked very confused. "I'll see what I can do. You want any dip or condiments?"

"Yeah, just bring everything."

"Mikey what the hell-"

"You're too skinny." He pointed to the girl. "Sweetheart, make them wreck that burger with bacon."

They drove and talked and argued about whether to not Hookah was stupid or great. There were a dozen things Michael wanted to ask about therapy and why Trevor was acting so much like himself after it seemed like his brain finally short circuited. Michael got a heavy feeling when he thought about it but when he looked to his right and saw Trevor making faces and feeling whatever he wanted, Michael was relieved.

It got dark and to Michael's surprise, Trevor didn't want to go see strippers.  
"No tonight man. You're bitch wife is finally out of the house and you want more strippers?"

"No, I thought you'd want some entertainment."

"You're entertaining me just fine, Mikey. Don't get me wrong, I haven't fucked in a lounge time now that I think about it. But I just don't…" Trevor shrugged, trying to think of what else to do.

This concerned Michael just slightly. "You never don't fuck."

"Im still coming down, you know. I haven't really used since the last time I saw you. You stuffed my gut like a pig, an I'm still.. you know. Coming to terms with-"

"Got it. Say no more." Don't get him talking about his mother. Not yet. Not until therapy took care of that and he never had to see that awful shiver. "We will go home, have some drinks. Put ice on your ass."

"How thoughtful."

More shitty movies, ones they took from Jimmy's room. They netflix'd a load of shows, staying away from Breaking Bad. Trevor thought it was awful.

"Hipster," Michael whispered at his scotch.

Trevor laid so he plopped his head into Michael's lap as he was sitting on the edge of the bed. "Noooo." He rolled onto this back and looked up. "Your hips stirred. Swinging that all around the house this morning. We're you at full mast?"

"Fucking _TEE_!"

"You thought I forgot, sailor?"

"Get off-" But Trevor grabbed Michael's arm before he could push him off. There was a strange pause as they looked at each other. Michael almost spoke but Trevor said, as if asking the time of day "Can I stay up here tonight? You're kids rooms are weird."

"Heh?"

"Can't believe you let Jimmy play those Grand Theft Auto games."

Michael tried to sputter out words but failed. "Gah, fine! But don't get funny, you drunk, grabby fuck. You been saying an awful lot of jokes about that shit."

"Jeez, Mikey. What's wrong? Intimacy problems lately? Something you never talked out with Mandy?"

"Off."

"No." Trevor rolled onto his side. "Doctor says I crave attention."

"Obviously."

"No, not just focus." Despite his discomfort, Michael listened intently. "Says I wasn't held enough growing up. Says I shoot people away for real because I'm 'mimicking behaviors'."

"… From who? Why? That sounds like, I don't know, psychobabble."

"Yeah, but it's true. Says its because my parents 'kept me at arms length', or you know, left me at the fucking mall." Michael was really uncomfortable. "You know…" Trevor tensed slightly. "Goodman said when parents fight, sometimes little kids hit their toys or make their dolls fight, too."

Michael understood, but he could barely keep his own kids in check. Fuck, he couldn't keep them in check at all. Now he had a grown, dirty, lonely, scared child in his lap trying to talk about feelings.

"When you told Franklin I didn't go off on anybody… you really embarrassed me." Trevor sat up, looking grumpy.

"Why? Lamar doesn't know about what happened, and Franklin's part of the trio."

"Its how you said it!" Trevor said, maybe angry. "It sounded so… so stupid! Like I just showed you some crappy finger-painting I was proud of from school, like I got an A and you just had to tell Franklin!"

"Am I not supposed to? Trevor, stop fuckin' around, alright? How was I supposed to say it?!"

"grr...You said it the right way!" Trevor said reluctantly, like he had to force the words out. "It's not like how it sounds after a score and we're all happy about it! It's-"

"You did something good, T! You did bring me home an A! Do you know how long it's been since anyone here got an A? My kids are morons."  
Trevor exhaled slowly as he gripped the bed.

"I'm proud of you." Michael said firmly. "You hear that? Did I say it wrong cause I'll do it different." When Trevor was quiet, maybe about to zone out again, he took a jab at his side. "Proud! Of you!"

"Stop, don't tickle me, shit!"

"Then stop phasing out. We gonna watch tv or not?"

For once, Michael slept like a stone. Despite Trevor's eventual snoring, he was comfortable. He knew where Trevor was, Franklin wasn't out with him trying to prevent disasters, and with enough strange therapy, Mrs. Phillips would stay buried in the woods instead of rotting away in her son's psyche.

Somehow, he woke up with Trevor sleeping the wrong way on the bed. Trevor's leg was on his chest and his sock was too close to Michael's face for his liking. T was in his underwear, big surprise, face turned towards Michael's foot and drooling with his mouth open. Michael jammed his foot in, waking Trevor up and making him spit to clear the taste.

"Fucking ew!" He said, only lifting his head. "What the hell!" He said angry, yet gently caressing Michael's chin with his toes.

"Get up asshole!" Michael said rolling quickly out of bed.

"Grumpy in the morning, still?" Trevor said, covering himself with the blanket. "_You_ can wake up, been a long time since I…" he yawned. "… Had a nice bed… to sleep…" He was out again.

They just stayed at home that day. It was strange seeing Trevor move around the house and mess with things. Strange, because he wasn't breaking things and sauntering around like a badass. He was calm and curious and just fucking weird. Trevor was soooo relaxed and his sarcasm wasn't biting and harsh, just comedic. Michael almost died of shock when he walked out and saw him just in underwear, floating face down in the pool. He jumped right in and tried to pull him out of the pool, but an arm suddenly wrapped around his head and pulled him under.  
Trevor surfaced and laughed like a maniac, and Michael came up a short while later.

"You still fell for that! It's been more than a decade and you still-"

Michael's fist connected harshly with the side of Trevor's face. "**SHUT UP, TREVOR!**"

Michael's face was red and despite being soaked from water, Trevor could see his eyes watering. Michael blinked it away but kept his eye on Trevor. "GET THE FUCK INSIDE, JUST GET THE _FUCK_ INSIDE!"

Trevor got out, looking back over his shoulder repeatedly at Michael, nervous. But he came back with a towel and some dry shorts he pulled out of the clothes hamper.

"Where are you staying after tonight?" Michael growled, drying off.

Trevor's jaw quivered slightly before he said "It's cool, I'll leave, I'm sorry M, I-"

"Like hell you are." Michael sighed. Throwing the towel in Trevor's face, he added "You live here now. You don't have any shit in the rathole you go to that I can't get you a better version of, so you stay your ass here, and don't go ANYWHERE I don't know about!"

Amanda was pissed. She went on and on about how the kids would be back and why was Trevor here and why was the lamp her mother gave her broken (You don't even like that lamp!). The look on her face, oh they should have took a picture, when Michael said very calmly "He's gonna stay in my room."

"_YOUR_ ROOM?!"

"Yes, because this is my house! I bought it. Like I bought those." He gestured at her breasts. "Because unfortunately for you, he's moving in. Tracey wants her furniture, so he's gonna get her room. I'll paint it bright orange," he waved his hand.

"I hate orange. And I **hate** Trevor!"

"Hey, hey!" Trevor said. "There it is. All these years and you finally come out with it; Terrific, honey! Thought you'd never confess your feelings for me."

"I do! You ruin everything! God, it always goes back to you! You never liked me, you're not better than anyone!" She looked so angry, but Michael showed no reaction. Let her run her tantrum.

"Always, always, always! Michael had a shot at a normal life, we all did! And then you spring up after not even going to his funeral! Ten years away from you-"

"Blissful I'm sure!" Trevor shot.

"And you're still ruining everything!"

"Sure I did, it wasn't you bending and twisting for your yoga instructor, trying to get some cheap thrills and wondering if he could see how wet you were getting through your bright little leggings and zero panties, right?"

"Trevor!" She screeched. "I'm tired of you're trash talking! All you are is trash, trash, fucking trash!"

"Enough!" Michael yelled. "I'm packing your shit and you better find a place fast cause I'm not having this!"

"Until I move out this is my fucking-"

"You're not my wife! This is getting finalized this goddamn week! It's not your problem! You got nothing to be jealous about!"

"Jealous?!" She said in disgust. "You think I'm-"

"Jealous! Fucking Jealous! Find someone who wants to lavish all their earnings on you and Nama-stay the hell away from here!"

He was going to tell T to go with him upstairs, but he wasn't around. He went out the open door and saw Trevor taking one of his cars.

"I'll be back, he muttered from inside.

"Get inside, I know what she said just-"

"I have things to do."

"Trevor-"

"You listen to me." Trevor spoke low and fast. "You better get back in there and hold on to your word. You take apart all her shit and you pack it or hide it or burn it, but get it out. That is your fucking castle and if she breaks any of your shit, I'll break her fucking fingers and stick them in her gaping cunt." He put on his seatbelt. "If I stay, its just going to be harder for you. I'm going to the Shores, Im not gonna do meth. I'm gonna get some things and I'll come back as soon as this is clear," He grabbed Michael by the shirt and pulled him close. "We don't run from our problems anymore Mikey. We run _to them_." He pushed Michael back and sped off.

And just like that, Trevor was gone, Amanda was screaming, and Michael was alone. Everything was back to normal.

I hate normal.


	6. Chapter 6

"T, brother, call me as soon as yo have a minute. I don't know what you're busy with, but I'm taking your word that you'll be ok. Call me."

As it stands, I may update chapters and add more descriptions of things. It's getting to be very chatty. But enjoy chapter six!

"T, look. I got your stuff hung up in my place. You shoulda heard her when she saw your heels. She said a girl with feet that big had to be a tranny. Anyway, let me know what you need. A ride in to town to see Dr. Goodman or some groceries… Text me."

"Hey Trevor. Listen, good news. Everything's done. She's out. I hung up your stuff in her old closet until I finish moving Tracey's things. Never had a great bachelor party. Wanna try again? Franklin's down for it. I told him you were out doing some things your therapist suggested but I don't want to keep fibbing. Let me know where you are. My house is weird without someone getting on my nerves, so… Look where the hell are you?"

"I'm gonna tell Franklin I lost track of you if you if you don't answer me by Five o-fucking-clock! I told you to stay where I could keep an eye on you! If you need to be alone, be alone of the other side of my house, but this Houdini bullshit needs to stop! We were all there that night! It was quick and scary but you can work through it with us. I swear on everything we've ever done- You better just be under some hooker!"

He put on a light gray suit and headed out. He parked… somewhere downtown… who gives a shit, he'd find his car eventually. He walked in and out of stores and other places, trying to fill time, checking his watch, pacing, rubbing his face, picking up the phone because maybe he got a text.

Maybe I should go see Franklin early. Maybe I should stop worrying.

Trevor lived for a decade without Michael guiding him. Trevor was a strong angry weed in a garden with tiny flowers. He would grow and be tall and spread and no matter what you threw at him he came back and bloomed.

He sat at an empty bus stop bench and held his head in his hands. Michael could feel himself blush a bit as he realized he was running around like a finicky hen who lost her chick.

"Mr. De Santa?"

It was Therapist Goodman. He looked disheveled. He clearly hadn't been sleeping well but he looked energetic and happy. He sat down next to Michael. "I've been trying to get in contact with you!"

"Uh… Oh. Yeah."

"Mr. De Santa. I must say, that in my years of therapy, and I know it hasn't been many years, but even though all my studies… Mr. De Santa I have never, ever met someone like Mr. Phillips!"

"Yeah I bet."

"Sir, look," He glanced through his notebook but his mind was racing and he didn't really read anything. He looked back to Michael instead. "I want you to know he is completely, 100% sane!"  
The whir of cars passing was the only sound for a while before Michael said "… What?"

"Don't get me wrong, he shouldn't ever fly planes again, that woman was right. Do you hear me Mr. De Santa, NO planes, ever! He does have issues, he's lacking empathy and sympathy but it isn't all the time."

"I know-"

"And he's completely capable of rational thought!"

"Yeah, he's smart. He does dumb things but he's always been smart."

"You need to understand," He quickly sipped his coffee. "Trevor Phillips is… I believe, that is, that he is manageable."

"… Is… Is that it? It that your big finding? Is that what your parents paid your school for? Tell me I can manage him? I've been managing since we met!"

"This won't solve everything, Trevor is not a polite man, and his issues run very, very deep. But Michael… there's a reason, I think, that he attacks like he does. He has a sense of morality and he only applies it when it suits his immediate social circles, you especially,and-"

"Whats your fucking point, doc?"

His voice got quieter. "He's projecting."

"Is this about kids and fighting dolls again?"

"He told you that! Oh good. It's a start. Yes. No. See, Trevor, he…" He sat up and tried to think for a moment. "Trevor's moralities are based on things that happened to him. The abuse. So when he has something important to him, he protects it because he couldn't protect himself." He went through his notebook again, waiting for a lady to finish walking passed, then continued. "He doesn't apply it to anything outside of that though. He doesn't apply that other people might be missed or traumatized, he's trying too hard to protect what is his."

Michael listened but the erratic behaviors of the Doctor made him unsure. "Yeah?"

"Anything outside of this bubble," he scribbled a stick figure in a circle. "That's all like his parents and brother to him. It's the friends he tried to make but couldn't growing up. It's teachers and bullies. It's all potential for him to get hurt."

Michael hadn't stopped looking at the circle. "Whats the use? He thinks we hate him. Me and Franklin and anyone who is nice to him."

"That's perfectly normal. Many people who hate themselves are lead to believe everyone hates them. They anticipate it."

"Then why does he protect us?"

"He hasn't told me everything. Many times he comes and talks and its just like a long phone conversation about nothing new no matter how I try to pry that out. He's still capable of care, I believe he loves very deeply. He definitely wants to. I can tell you for certain though, despite his self serving tendencies, its _you_," He pointed his pen at Michael. "who are at the center." He drew a smaller circle under the stick figures hand.  
"Now, at first, I thought maybe he was projecting his inner self onto you, and that's why you were so important. And it have been that at some point, but it's not anymore. I have theories but that's confidential for now. They may be all wrong, but if he doesn't open up more I can't ask."

"I'm right in the eye of the storm."

"You'd you rather be on the outside?"

"Not for a second. So a lot of his hang ups-"

"Are just his defenses going up to protect him from repeat attacks. It's like how he hates the word 'motherfucker' or people he sees as betrayers. Somehow, that's all residue left by feelings he never understood."

"Yeah, yeah. Speaking about that, feelings, ah… do you have any explanations for, um…" Michael got real quiet. "Did he talk about dresses?"

"Openly. Now I'm not saying that wasn't triggered by abuse, but I'll be honest, it's the last thing on my mind. It's a non issue. The root could be an issue, maybe, but not that. Many men wear women's clothing. As a fetish, or for comfort, or some kind of feeling of beauty men don't often have directed at them. Men and boys are always pushed to be tough. Some men just like it and I cant figure out why." He glanced over at a man across the street, accidentally giving away that, whoever that guy was, he also had this habit.

"Professional, doc." He sat up.

"Can I just ask, Mr. De Santa, that when you deal with him, you just remember that under all the bombastic behavior… he is a clear thinker. The drugs bring out this veil of insanity and impair his judgement, that's another big reason why he can do things like… like eat p-people…But I mean it, there is a bright individual there and that comes through no matter what."

"You talk about him… like he's _normal_. Nothing about him has ever been or stayed _normal_."

"The worst thing you could do is have him believe that you think he is crazy. Crazy-wild is fine, but not insane. Can you promise me that you'll remember that? He's trying, really, but he has to break through this phobia towards everything about life."

"He does. Th-Thanks, Goodman."

The man smiled, seemingly more relaxed and a little more tired. He soon got on the next bus.

Michael watched it leave.

Michael wasn't sure Goodman was a real therapist.

—-

The look on Michael's face said "Don't ask, just drive" as he held out Trevor's dress for Chop to sniff. Franklin didn't, he just sped his way to Sandy Shores. "I'm gonna cage him up with a shock collar when we find him."

"He'd probably like the collar."

"I'm getting tired of babysitting him."

"Imagine how well behaved he _wasn't_ in his twenties." Michael turned to look at Franklin. "You don't have to come. If you have things to do, then I can handle Trevor. I just need Chop-"

"Man, stop talking. You can't handle Trevor cause Trevor ain't handling Trevor. Or maybe he is. Guess we'll see."

"… So… why are your hands all bandaged?"

Franklin's serious face was broken by his laughter. "Little jackass named Trevor. He's a poodle. Not even the big kind."

"Shit, Franky."

"I was on his turf. He lashed out at people. I got cocky and he got me. But you can't back off. You come in closer. They either relax or tire themselves out. Run through what the dude said to you about circles one more time, I don't get it."

"In a second. I gotta ask…" They turned a sharp corner so Michael stopped until they swerved past an oncoming car and kept driving. He could see Franklin's was face was calm, but his grip on the wheel had been firm this whole ride. "Trevor isn't easy to be around. He's poised to strike at anything even if it hurts him. Why are you so ready to come help?"

"All the bullshit we went through, you think I'm gonna have that all be in vain because he shoots up too much one day? Trevor is part of why I started my little business. Him and that weird Retriever I told you I met. If I could survive Trevor, shit, might as well make money fighting other people's Trevor."

"You don't need money."

"No, I need a challenge. Something I can't fix by shooting at it. T has me cracking up sometimes, for real, and maybe I just really got past a lot of his creepy bullshit, but he grows on you. Like a virus or mold. I owe T like I owe you, but I aint doin' this because I owe y'all. I like Trevor. Doesn't need to be explained anymore than that. Shit, having Trevor around makes shit crazy, but that feels normal now, don't it? Fuck, I'm ready to swing at him though. Boom! Beat the stink out of his mouth."  
Michael wasn't satisfied with the answer, but the recklessness of Franklin's driving kept him quiet. Michael sank into his seat and shook his head.

"Why do you do it?" Franklin said more quietly after an awkward silence. Another sharp turn. "Besides the fact that his ass would pop up all the time anyway. Stalk us and show up uninvited. Why did you stay friends with him after you got to know him?"

Michael watched Franklin, unable to think of an answer. He searched for something better then "Its complicated" or "we were kids" or "I don't know". When he couldn't, Franklin rolled his eyes and laughed. "Guess there is someone out there for everyone."

—  
Trevor's run down home was empty. They had broken in to be sure. There was a thin layer of dust forming on everything, making them believe no one had been in here for sometime, including Trevor. "Don't mean he aint strung out somewhere else," Franklin mumbled, annoyed. "Try again, Chop."

When they stepped back out, it had started to rain.

"Will Chop still be able to smell him?" Michael asked.  
"Man, I don't know," He tried to hold on to the leash as he followed, but Chop was pulling hard. "It's Trevor though, I'm surprised me can't smell him right now."

Chop gave them a few false leads before he finally made it to the dive bar. The red-haired owner lady started yelling at them about "No Dogs!", and to Franklin's surprise, Michael pointed a gun at her without even turning her way. "Not now. We're here to collect Trevor Phillips. Where'd he go?"  
"Take him," she sighed. "Please. Him and his friend over there." She waved her hand before walking off into some back room. They walked through the small cramped bar and quickly found Trevor. He didn't look thin, or tweaked out, as he slammed down an abandoned beer from an empty table, cigarette butts and all. We walked crookedly back to his seat next to someone they didn't recognize.

"T!"

Chop pulled his leash free, got on the table, and excitedly greeted Trevor. He lickd dry blood from Trevor's cheek and nose. The stench of booze masked his usual funk.

"And heres the two I wush tawkin about'," Trevor slurred. "Mikey! Mikey. B-Mikey bikey. And Trevor. Tr-Trikey. I should get a tricycle… will, will you ride it with me, F-F-franky baby?"

Franklin face palmed with his bandaged hand, before pulling Chop down. "No, fool! Man where you been!?"

"I wus, erm, jus jus jus heeere Franklin, just laying low from Angry Amanda."

Michael gestured to the bloodstains on Trevor's clothes. "That's a lovely shade of horsecrap you got on. Why didn't you answer your phone?"

"I don't got it. I thought… I did. But isssss in your house…"

Michael grabbed at his own hair, his other hand in a fist and shaking. "I'm taking you back," he said, his lips even thinner from anger.

"Excuse me," said the stranger slowly. "I was just treating him to this, fine, fine bit of drink. Sit a while, you boys are soaked." They looked at him. He was very tall, that was apparent even as he sat. His hair was a muted red and gray, and he looked at them through the glasses that sat on his face. For a moment, Michael could have sworn he was looking at Jack Nicholson, strange eyebrows and all, but the face was longer, thinner. His nose was off somehow, like it had been broken and healed wrong. He had a smug confidence that radiated. "Trevor tells me you're in films I believe? I dabble myself, love cameras. And you," He smiled nicely at Franklin, but his features just became somewhat spooky. "You must be his son."

"Yeah," Franklin said. "Can't get enough of dear ol' dad." He was trying to be sarcastic, but it seemed like the man still believed him. "Pops disappeared a while ago and forgot to tell me where he was going."

"Oh how unfortunate! You must have been worried. Well, he's fine. More than fine. Sit, sit. I refuse to have you go back out in this rain." Chop tilted his head and the old man started petting him. "A drink?"

"No, I'm driving." Franklin said. Michael tried not to scoff. "Whats your name?"

"Archaimbaud. Archie is fine."

"You… You know our Trevor from someplace?"

"New acquaintance. He… assisted me out of a bad situation. Trevor, he's a force."

"That bastard aint double crossing aaaaaanyone. Anymore." Trevor laid his head on the table. Michael pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to will away the oncoming migraine.

"I had a bit of an altercation with a gentlemen." Archaimbaud continued. "A thief, it turns out, robbery…"

"Green as fucking grass," Trevor growled.

"We had an agreement. I would watch his little boy while he went off to do his work. His wife had no idea. Poor child only stayed with each parent a month at a time, little cherub of a boy. Like a son to me. But his daddy was suspicious when one of his jobs want bad. People were expecting him. He got out, but blamed me. I was the only one who knew his plans," he pointed a finger at Michael. "But I never said a word to anybody. Would have been going back out of state to help him collect his boy right now. I got tired of his accusations. I took my pay and tried to leave. But my, my. We we're good friends once. He wouldn't let me leave with my money and tried to get it back. Ran me all the way out to this lovely little town."

"Then he met me," Trevor smirked. "So I saved Archie here. We been getting to know each other."

"And I appreciate you, showing your uh… appreciation." Michael said to Archie. "But you should take your suitcase and go home."

"Afraid I have no home to go to. See, I'm a drifter. I ran with my friend wherever he needed to go."

"He's gonna stay in the Shores." Trevor said. "Gonna train him. Fit him right in to TP Industries. Ron's been getting on my nerves."

"Are you kidding me?" Michael asked. "All your shit's at my place. I don't know where you have your phone plugged or why the ringer is off, but I'm sure Goodman's been trying to get a hold of you. I'm sorry, sir, but TP Industries is going to close."

"Fuck you, Michael!" Trevor slammed the table, making everything shake.

The next hour didn't go great. Glasses were broken and insults flew like birds. The bar lady had given up on trying to make them leave. Chop took some quick small bites at Trevor, trying to get him to calm down. Somehow, despite Franklin's protests, Michael ended up in a compromise he didn't want. Archie would stay at Michael's house for a while. Trevor wouldn't go any other way.  
-

Franklin pulled up to the house. The rain was still coming, cold and hard. Archie tried to make a small joke about his driving, but Franklin turned and said "Look, man. The deal was to bring you here. I did. And I can bury you here too."

"Franklin," Michael knew Franklin had enough. "Get some sleep. Here." He handed a box to him. "This is a thank you."

"And you." Franklin directed at Trevor. "Im going to see you, Father's Day. I better get a good report from Michael." He pocketed the box.

The three men got out. "He's… protective, that boy." Archaimbaud stated as they walked towards the door. "He must really love his family."

"Yeah." Michael said, unlocking the door. "He got brought up well. As you see, he's a 'force', too."

"Mmm. But he get's that calculated self control from you." He gave a small chuckle. "You must be proud, Mr. William Fioravanti."

"Kiton K-5." He corrected, and went to pour himself a scotch. He heard Trevor call out "Just a douche-suit," before he passed out on the sofa.


	7. Chapter 7

The big, beautiful, open house was tense at first. Archie went out each day, insistent on taking cabs and exploring this new city he was apparently mesmerized by, camera in hand. Trevor didn't try to run out alone with the man, despite clearly wanting to. Instead he kept nagging Michael about having a day out together with the three of them. Franklin stopped by every day, in the mornings on his way to a client's house, or in the evenings before going back home. He seemed to do everything in his power to not speak to Archie. Trevor did act more like himself with Franklin there. He tried to busy himself with Archie, and one day it slivered into Michael's mind.

Trevor was replacing him.

He felt disgusted. A stranger in his house who had tried to win his affections with his knowledge of old movies and drink recipes, Michael had actually started to not mind the extra company. Trevor was trying to bring him into his ridiculous drug empire, and it irked Michael. Why should Trevor try to shack up with some inexperienced weirdo? He almost, somewhere, maybe thought about feeling jealous. No, not over this guy. This guy who supposedly stole nothing but his own due pay, bumming about in Trevor's room.  
After Amanda and him had their final fight, Jimmy had moved his things out too. Not the important things, just pot and games, and other trash. There was a bed though. Maybe he'd have Archie stay in that room until he could find a way to wean Trevor off of this drifter.

Father's day came. Franklin was wearing the beautiful Movato watch he had gotten as a thank you. Michael stayed with them for a few hours, but he had to leave. Franklin would stay and keep an eye things while Michael spent time out with his two kids. He laughed about not knowing how to explain all the recent happenings to them. A knock came at the door. Once open, the meek, wire hair Goodman walked in.

"Just checking up on my best patient!" He smiled. He didn't have his usual khaki's, white collared shirt and ugly tie. He dressed down and looked comfy, but it was off-putting how his interest in Trevor was strong and ever present.

"Why is he really here?" Franklin muttered so only Michael would hear.

"Im hoping he drops more information to me later. I want him to ask about his new friend, see why he's been glued at the hip to him."

"Don't worry mom. Trevor is loyal."

"You watch the smart mouth, I'm not the one who wears dresses."

"I think we jumped the gun on this one. Dude is weird but he's old. Actual old. Probably croak by the time you get back."  
"I just want to know what Trevor is thinking. He's skipping appointments." They watched the chatty Goodman hold the camera and try to follow instructions on taking the perfect picture.  
"Did you ask him?"

"… I gotta head out."

"I didn't think so," Franklin sucked his teeth and waved Michael away.  
"You just take the pie out when the timer dings. Trevor!"  
"What, Michael?"  
Michael walked over to the group. "I'll be back in a few hours. You'll be alright?"  
"I'll manage," He grunted, scratching an itch at his nipple.  
Michael averted his gaze before looking back at Trevor. "…Right." He grumbled something about having vanilla ice cream in the freezer and tried to run and go, but Trevor took hold of his shoulder, turned him back around and gave him a one armed hug.  
"Happy Father's Day." he pulled away. Michael's eyes showed an odd flash of pleasant surprise. He smiled despite the present company.  
"We'll have a night out later. If you're gentleman friend here thinks he can keep up."  
"I'll take you up on that offer, Mr. De Santa." He smiled and his face still looked harsh. Seeing it was almost like a visual version nails across a chalkboard to Michael. His skin crawled, so he gave a quick hug to Franklin and left.

"What a nice husband." Archie said happily to himself before sipping his coffee.  
There was a small silence before Goodman's head spun around to say "What?"

The park was full of dads and kids. Some of them obviously would rather be somewhere else. Others were enjoying the dry hot dogs and cheap balloons. He stared at little kids running around and dads holding new babies. Stand up guys, who went to work and went home to watch Spongebob for the millionth time while trying to get their kids to eat their vegetables. A dad and daughter duo passed on skateboards. Jimmy was going on about some bad infection his friend got from stretching his earlobes, and Tracey was failing miserably at hiding he new tattoo, a name from her 2 week old relationship. He almost flipped out on her, but he was out of steam and the other dads didn't need to know how inadequate of a father he was. Amanda had already given Tracey a piece of her mind.

He looked up at the sky, almost completely blue. He tried to remember what it was like on days where this was his only ceiling. He closed his eyes and remembered pick-poketing and fake IDs. The cliche act of robbing a liquor store with a ski mask, and bringing bottles back to whoever his crew consisted of that week. He took a deep breath and could almost smell the old empty houses they would squat. He exhaled and he could somehow taste what the air was like when he hid in a barn. He opened his eyes and expected, just for a moment, for his to see a lean, but always too thin, sleep eyed and angry, young accomplice.

"You hear that dad? It came out looking like cottage cheese!"

He blinked confused before remembering Trevor was now back at his miserable mansion. "Gross. That's gross, Jimmy."

"I know! You shoulda been there!"

Michael took another look around the lake at dads, heavier than him who would never know what life on the run was like. An acidic pity washed over him. For a second, he was a young Townley again, staring at the mock fatherhood his future would consist of. It was then Michael decided he was not a strong dandelion, taking ownership of all the earth around him. He was something else entirely, a plant plucked from the rest of the world and potted in a container, never to spread beyond decorated walls, and withering.  
He thought for a moment about Trevor. Trevor, who at the moment was supposed to be confined to that house, when before he would float in and out as he pleased. He suddenly felt guilty about trying to coop up Trevor, expecting something good to sprout in that hollow space where he himself couldn't flourish. It was only temporary. Temporary, until he was sure Trevor wouldn't hurt himself or end up in a straightjacket.

He feigned interest in whatever his kids were saying, but was distracted by remembering when he helped clean Trevor up after the murder. It wasn't the first time he helped like that. Trevor had gotten hurt before and needed assistance, and he only ever took it from Michael. But the very first time he helped him bathe was terrifying. Mrs. Phillips had crossed many lines and slept with everyone who would pay, but, and Michael's eyes narrowed in disgust as he remembered, in a stupor fueled by either drinking or drugs, she did it. She tried to include Trevor in the act. At the request of some stranger, she berated Trevor until he joined. Michael wasn't sure what took place exactly, but Trevor had implied things over the years that made him think both people took advantage.

Trevor was in the bath of the motel they occupied for that week when Michael saw him. The place was trashed and clothes were thrown everywhere. The door to the bathroom was left open, and Trevor was in the tub, sitting under scalding water, rubbing his genitals raw with a loofah. At first Michael thought it there was something else going on. He almost turned away but heard something being said through gritted teeth about "hate her boyfriends" and "keeps happening, i hate it, hate you". When he tried to take Trevor's hand away, Trevor screamed loud out of both surprise and trying to get Michael away. He backed off but sat on the bed. He watched Trevor for a long time, rock back and forth, try to clean some other part of him, sit quietly, over and over. When Michael couldn't take the spectacle anymore, he walked wordlessly into the bathroom. He knelt, cooled the water, and set the tub to fill. He stared at the damaged, red skin, all over his friend, and said in a low voice "We won't come here again. Ever."

It took 45 minutes before Michael was able to gently scoop water in his hands and pour it down Trevor's back. He was silently allowed to continue, and when Trevor finally mumbled something about "enough", he backed away and watched Trevor climb slowly out and make his way to bed. Michael chose to sleep on the ground. He said nothing about the bloody bat that was there, and when they got back to America, he didn't tell any of the guys what happened. Concerned, but too guilty to speak, he didn't ask about the prostitutes T spent that first week back with. He'd never suggest Trevor visit his family again.

A thwack in the head from a rouge tennis ball brought him back to the present.

It was six pm when he got back. He meant to return sooner, but his usual guilt about bad parenting kept him until his kids were practically begging to go back to their lives, or lack thereof.

Everyone was still occupying the living room. Trevor was talking loudly about how "This country is going to shit" and how he took skinny jeans off some prick once out of necessity, but trashed them because "My nads were being pushed into my throat". Goodman was getting ready to go, Michael offered to show him out.

"Listen, thanks for coming-"

"Any time Mr. De Santa! I have dinner with my parents now but it was a pleasure!"

"Listen. Not to keep you, but… now that you've seen him outside of the office… is there anything you can tell me?"

"If you're asking if I found out anything new, no. He appears to be putting the event behind him."

"I guess. But, that man, Archie… I mean, I wasn't expecting him to go try and make friends."

"It's a pleasant distraction, Mr. De Santa. You were there that night. He probably just needs to be around someone who doesn't remind him of what happened." Before Michael could disagree, Goodman raised a hand and reassured him. "Trevor speaks just as highly of you as ever. Which isn't very high at all, but it's he mentions you frequently. I suspect Archaimbaud is a stepping stone- a bridge to help get back to being comfortable with you."

Michael paused. That sounded possible. "…Alright. Alright, Goodman. Have a good night."

Goodman smiled. "Don't worry. He'll be sleeping back in your room before you know it."

"He fucking talked about that?"

"He said the carpet in the other room is scratchy. I may be taking liberties and reading between the lines, but I think he misses you. Don't worry. Im not upset you didn't tell me." He went down to his car and left before Michael understood. He felt like was swinging on a meat hook again, blood rushing to his head, and helpless to ignore the rumors that took away from the matter at hand.

_He ain't my Ji Lao!_

He walked back in. Fuck a glass, he wanted the scotch right out of the bottle. But he went to the living room first.  
"Sorry, I'm back."

"Sorry is right." Trevor said. "How are they?"

"Fine. Lost causes, just like always, but good."

"Children are a handful," Archie nodded. "I expect young Franklin here was too!"

Franklin looked uncomfortable as he gave a weak smile back. He looked like he had stomach cramps he was trying hard to ignore.

"Frank, hey," Michael patted his shoulder. "Come to the pool for a sec, I gotta show you that… thing with the… drain."

"For sure."

They headed out and Michael paced angrily before he spoke. "Why. Why is he still talking like we raised you?"

"As far as he knows, ya'll did. I thought that was the plan."

"There's no plan! The guy's an idiot. Goodman thinks-"

"Chill. Goodman thinks what I want him to think."

"What're you talking about?"

"Well T is rolling with the story, more or less. He thinks we're still talking in mataphors-"

"We are!"

"Arch don't know that. Trust me, it's awkward as fuck being in between you and Trevor. Most people don't hang around T for long anyway. I figure when Archie gets sick of feeling like a third wheel, he'll take the hint and get to stepping. And I think it's been working."

"I'd knock you out," he said, pretending to point down into the pool for show. "but I wanna hear why you think that."

"Ask him yourself."

They went back in. Michael tried to get a fork full of the leftover pie, but Trevor moved it. "You don't need pie, you chubby-"

"So!" Michael clapped his hands together, ignoring Trevor. "I hear there's news! Achaimbaud?"

Achaimbaud put down his tea. "Yes! I'll be settling down into a small apartment soon, for a month or so. Two weeks time. I appreciate you housing me here. I'll be eternally grateful."

Trevor looked displeased, Michael's eyes almost sparkled. "We gotta make the most of it then! Franklin!" He grabbed him with an unexpected bear hug. "Join us! We'll have dinner soon! On me."

"Finally!" Trevor said. "I'm wasting away in here. I can't be in here with your high fiber, low calorie, spirulina, Trader Joes-"

"Really?" Michael walked up to Trevor, looking jolly. He gently touched Trevor's abdomen, and T jumped back. "Cause you're looking a little… fuller lately."

"It's the pie. And gas," Trevor said. He stepped closer to make up for backing away, and his face was inches from Michael. "So where we goin'? I need to stretch my legs, get that heart rate up! Remember when you used to be able to run?"

Michael smiled, and Franklin thought he looked legitimately delighted.

"I was gonna play football for a living, fly-boy. You're right, it's gotten stale around here! Liven things up! And I'm gonna run circles around you," Michael pressed his finger painfully into Trevor's cheek. "Sugar tits."

"I'm out of this piece," Franklin said, hurrying to the door, and shaking his head. Michael had lost it, he was sure. "I'll catch you tomorrow evening."

"Franklin!" Trevor called but he was ignored.

"Boys! Uh, Sirs!" Archie said. "Please, please, it's a special day. No need to get riled up." He chuckled. "Here, let's-" He skimmed through some photos on his small digital camera. "No, no. The memory is full. Let me change the card." Archie shuffled off to the room.

"What's your deal?" Trevor was incredulous, but interested. Michael looked up slightly into Trevor's eyes, he'd nearly forgotten Trevor was taller than him.

"I just realized something today." He tried to look genuine, but he felt sheepish. "I miss you, T."

Trevor was caught slightly off guard but regained composure when Archie made it back to them.

"Here! A picture!" Archie ginned. "Move closer again." They moved and Michael placed his hands in his pockets as Trevor leaned against a wall. "No, no, this is forced. We need something candid, something alive! I hate when it looks planned."

Michael almost asked what he wanted them to do, but Trevor jumped on him and tried to climb up to his shoulders as if he was a cat. Michael and Trevor fell over with a loud thud. "My fucking back! Geez Trevor!" But Trevor was laying on his side, barking in laughter.

"That's what I like to see!" Archiambaud extended his hand and helped Michael up. He showed him the picture. It was awkward and he thought he looked ridiculous in mid-fall, but Trevor looked alive and Michael nodded.

"Thats what I like to see too."

"Michael," Trevor said from the floor. "Beer me."

"You wanna be our ref, Archie?" Michael offered.

"Me?" Archie put his camera away in a pocket. "Thank you, but I have to make some more personal arrangements. I may be busy until sometime in the evening."

"It's alright. We'll work up an appetite while we wait, eh T?"

"You can start by marching your can to the fridge and get my beeeeer."


	8. Ch 8- Bedbugs

Thanks for waiting! This chapter took longer due to length and me start college. All my classes are smushed together purposely though, so hopefully time wont be much of an issue. I'll admit now that Im not sure this fic will be well liked. The more i go, the more I realise im not doing the characters justice at all, but Im enjoying myself too much to stop. I didn't expect it to go on for this many chapters. Still, something to read when you dont want to focus on class. Love you guys! Here's chapter eight - Bedbugs.

Archie had slept in Jimmy's old room that night. He actually seemed eager and happy to. Trevor insisted it was fine, he couldn't jerk off with "some sweet old fart" in the same room, or so he said. Michael woke up and brushed his teeth, put on a robe, and carefully went over to Trevor's door. He opened it slowly, and quietly. There he saw Trevor, in some of his new boxers, standing. He stared, transfixed, at his hand. He rubbed the back of it, slow, but rough, and dragging the skin. It looked like he was trying to get something off. It was irritated and red.

"T?" Michael said, quietly. Trevor kept pulling the skin. He opened the door more and took a step.

"T." he said louder. Soon Trevor was scraping at his hand with his nails and muttering. For a second, Michael recalled Trevor's raw skin in the shower from years ago. He walked in, quickly, saying "Trevor!" and Trevor jumped at the abruptness.

He looked at Michael, then to his hand and seemed to not remember how he'd gotten there. Michael didn't see anything drug related around the room.

"H… Hey man." Trevor said, trying to sound normal. He inhaled through his nose and said "You know, I think you got bedbugs, pally. That's no good. Not that you'd feel it with all the cushioning." He gave a toothy smile, and Michael smiled back, glad the little episode was over.

"I do, I do have beg bugs. One big one named Trevor. And he probably does spread disease."

"_Not_ true. I took the antibiotics and I had tons of diarrhea to prove it."

"You have diarrhea because you don't eat anything that not microwavable. Not when you're not here anyway." He looked down and gently grazed his knuckles against the back of Trevor's hand. "If the… 'bedbugs'… show up again… you can bunk with me."

"Tell you what." Trevor said, moving passed him toward the door. "Winner today gets that room. And you can massage my feet when I need to sleep. Really get in there, cowboy, maybe lace your fingers in my toes- give em a good squeeze."

"Didn't peg you as a foot kind of guy." The started to head for the hallway.

"No one pegs me, actually. Personal hangup, I'd just rather not be in that situat- what?"

"What's that?"

"What's what, pegging?"

"Yeah." Michael said, turning into the kitchen. "Sounds bad, what kind of pegs you talking about?"

"I'll show you," Trevor said, grabbing a wooden spoon while Michael was turned and busy with the coffee maker.

"OW!"  
-

They must have looked so strange at the park. As they stomped fast along the paths and turned corners, the began trying to shove each other aside or back. Michael's football instincts were coming back and he shouldered Trevor roughly. He had to, Trevor's long legs were threatening to move him further, faster. Trevor hurled insults loud and proud, but nothing could stop Michael. When he saw their original starting point approaching, and he forced his body forward, he had an idea. Just get there first, just get there first…

"THAT IS BULLSHIT!" Trevor screamed, and then panted hard. "You can't… just… fucking…cheat," He stood up straight. "Look at you!"

Michael was more tired, and he was breathing harder. Still, he grinned. "Feels like… old days."

"Old days Michael wouldn't cheat me!" Trevor was nearly back to normal. "I didn't realize snakes were so-"

"So good at winning! But you've got a point, bro," He took a big sigh. "I owe you another shot, don't I?"

"Fuckin' A you do!" Trevor roared.

"That's mine, T. Here… Let's keep this up." Michael said. "Let's sweat all that meth and speed and everything else out today- Let's reeeally rev up that appetite!"

Trevor growled, obviously livid, but when he looked at Michael again, his eyes were crazed and excited, and there was a feline air to that wicked smile. "I'm going to teach you not to FUCK with Trevor Philips! I was better than you as a kid-" Michael felt a hard blow and Trevor tackled him onto the grass, shoulder first. "- And I'm gonna be better than you today!"

"Not much fuckin' lately, T? Too much testosterone getting the better of you?"

"I'll make you use my cum as massage oil if you open your doughy mouth at me again."

"First one to 50 push ups gets the bed and picks the restaurant."

"And last one to the peddle boat feeds me the entire meal!"

After a few more hard, competitive, idiotic competitions, the finally stumbled their way to an empty grassy spot and collapsed, Michael sitting and Trevor laying on his face. Michael watched him there, in ridiculously short exercise shorts and a light blue tank top with stars on it. Trevor must have stuck in it with the other clothes they bought because Michael would never pull out anything like that.

"I'm not… going to lose…today…Townley!"

Michael laughed, and coughed a little. "I can't believe you… got in the swan boat!"

"I can't believe your boat stayed above water…" He attempted to get up. Right at that moment, there was a loud bang. A bullet priced the ground between them. They scrambled to their feet, Trevor grabbed Michael by the shirt to keep him from running off. "It's cool." He panted, as mothers grabbed their children and started to flee. "Stuart! Good to see you! It's been weeks pal!"

"How come you ain't selling, Trevor?" Said some sickly looking blonde. With one look at his skin, Michael realized he was a meth addict, some lesser known customer to Trevor Philips' grand business. He was twitchy, but kept the gun pointed relatively steady.

"It's my day off, Stu. I'm on vacation! Catching up with- we'll he's been trying to catch up to me, but-" Another missed shot separated him from Micheal, but he ducked and ran to Stuart. He shouldered him hard in the stomach. "You're it!"

Trevor grabbed Michael by the hand and pulled. "C'mon, we gotta get him away from here!"  
Michael's legs ached but he ran. Soon enough, they were being chased by Stuart, who hadn't been sprinting all morning and still had energy to burn. They ducked past upcoming cars, Trevor actually clearing a jump over the hood of a Ford Fusion.

"Here!" Trevor and Michael turned into an alley, filled with trash and leading to a dead end.

"Idiot!" Michael said, but Trevor didn't pay attention. Hey pushed Michael to the wall behind a dumpster and hid with him.

"Shh." Trevor warned. Stuart mad it into the alley. "Get out here you piece of shit!" He walked further in, checking behind trash cans. Trevor slowly picked up an unopened can of long expired food, and Michael glanced up when Stuart came up to them.

"I'm on vacation!" Trevor growled. He was on Stuart in a second, beating him in the mouth with the can. "Don't! You! Ever! Try to come find me when I'm out of town!" He grabbed the handgun and pointed it at Stuart. "And I'm not gonna kill on my day off either. You get your toothless ass back over there. If I see you again, I'll fire a rifle straight up your asshole!"

Stuart left, his few front teeth still on the ground. When they went to get back in the car, they had to move quickly and get out of there before the cops that had just shown up questioned them. They drove, albeit still somewhat recklessly, back to Michael's house. They got in and sat in the kitchen, and when they finally looked at each other, they realized they were both feeling a strange rush of euphoria.

"This is great!" Trevor said though some laughter.

"It's just the endorphins." Michael smiled. "From running around like jackasses all day. Ah, man, this feels great. Fuckin' A."

"Wish i was better at separating business from pleasure," Trevor smiled to himself. "Didn't want to see anyone today, not when I finally get to see you moving like you used to again."

"All the shit we've done and you still think I'm out of shape."

"Mashed potatoes isn't a shape. Get out the ice cream."

"No, and you ain't getting it wither. The point of today was to wear you out and make you hungry."

"No it wasn't." Trevor stood up, stretching and groaning loudly. "You, my terrible at jumping jacks friend, did not do all of that just so I'd eat with you."

"Well, you're right T." He sat instead as Trevor rubbed an ache on his neck. "I told you. I miss you. I missed the chase. It's not the same without plans and money, but we didn't always need that." They were silent for a while, still trying to find their breath. They were both drenched in sweat and Michael couldn't wait for a shower.

"I need to go roll in your bed for a while. Let it absorb the essence of the man who earned it." Trevor started to walk out. "Maybe hump the pillows, shit I feel good! I'm never exercising again, but this _does_ feel like the good old days, eh?"

"Later," Michael said. "Go shower. We need to get you something good to wear."

"I've got a mountain of things to wear," Trevor said.

"No. You got a row of things to wear, still in my closet. But you're not wearing those. You, you, my deranged friend, still need a suit."

"I'm not a suit guy, but you can buy my love all you want, sugar tits." Trevor went up the stairs, and realized as he passed Jimmy's old room that he hadn't seen the picture from Father's day. He went in for a moment, and found a small camera memory card. He took it, tossed it into his room, dropped his shorts in the hallway and entered the shower.

—

Trevor had finally gotten into a nice suit, nearly black with a red shirt. After harassing a worker there ("I can give you something to measure there, big boy") Michael paid. He reached into the bag, and pulled out two pairs of black gloves. "Let's put these on."  
"You expect me to eat with these?" Trevor said. "Hello?"

"If you want. But these are to, ah… keep those bedbugs from coming at you."

Trevor's fingers twitched slightly, only now remembering the discomfort on the back of his hands.

"You don't need to keep worrying about me. No one ever has. I'm doing just fine."

"I'm not trying to make you feel cornered, T. Just slip them on whenever you get 'itchy', in case my room gives you bugs."

Trevor snatched the gloves. "Don't you wear those when you massage me. I want my toes cracked by the way."

A loud gurgle sounded angrily from Trevor's stomach. They headed out the door.

—

The car pulled up at a place Trevor didn't recognize. It was some big, stuck up place, where he assumed the portions were smaller than the dollar bills used to pay then. He mused over whether or not he could steal some of the cloth napkins, when they saw Archie outside. He was flattering a young couple and their toddler.

"'Ey!" Michael called. Archaimbaud jumped hard, and put a hand over his heart. Michael shook his head. "Sorry old-timer. We're here."

Achie mumbled his apologizes and handed a small paper to the mother. "Let me know if you need any assistance, my dear!"

"Who are they?" Trevor asked.

"I'm trying to find work again," Archie said. "Babysitting, but stable. Something so I won't be on the run all the time." He laughed. "Maybe I can stay around town then." Trevor smiled a little. Michael tried not to glance his way. It was a calmer response than he expected. He wondered if it was from tiring Trevor out. He felt good.

Franklin arrived a short time later. He looked sharp, white on top, dark pants, sleek shoes. He pointed to his watch and gave a funny nod, Michael patted him on the shoulder and smiled.

The dinner went well. Trevor boasted a lot about the times he won whatever contests they had in the day and Michael let him, mostly. He had to save face a little, when Trevor remembered he earned the right to be fed at dinner, fair and square. He sat across Michael and reveled in the "taste of victory". Michael's face showed annoyed regret, but outside it just looked funny. Franklin was very uncomfortable and when he followed with the same regretful face, Archaimbaud said something quietly about it being normal to show public displays of affection. Franklin was sure he could break the fork in his mouth, the way his jaw tightened. It wasn't this old dude's fault Franklin was uncomfortable. It was his own. Still, he had to fight back the urge to punch Michael for it.

Dinner was over, and with heads swimming from their salute to Archie's new residence, they headed out. Franklin pulled Michael aside, whispering harshly about how didn't have to act like he way gay, just say he was. Michael wanted to defend himself, but just patted Frank on the shoulder. "There, there kid. this doesn't change anything between you and I."

"That's it. I'm taking time off from ya'll. I'm gonna go fuck my client with the loud ass St Barnard, and pretend I don't know you. Keep Trevor alive, don't call unless you need me."

"Can do, sport."

Archie apologized and said he "had things around town he was dying to photograph at night." He said he was going to be in a hotel room for the night.

"Don't get hurt, gramps." Trevor warned, and they went back home, pretending they weren't swerving.

—

After forcing Trevor to shower again before he massaged his feet, and taking a rather hot shower himself, Michael went into his room. Trevor was watching the wall mounted TV, laying atop the covers in fresh underwear, and wearing his new gloves.

"Bugs?"

"Huh?"

"…bugs. One creep up on you?"

Trevor looked at his hand, holding the remote. He was silent and Michael worried for a second, expecting maybe for Trevor to start itching or shaking.

"They just feel nice. Should use these next time I robs somebody's place."

They watched something stupid, a show about a family with too many kids and then a show about people who were dangerously overweight. Thoroughly bored, Michael calls it a night.

"Where you going'?"

Michael shrugged. "Sleep somewhere."

"Don't. Your other beds are murder. Really. And your couch is easy to roll off of. Stay here," He tossed a pillow and the comforter on the floor, leaving the thinner sheet for himself. "You'll be my dog."

"You're _what_?"

Trevor said something about absorbing any residual endorphins from him, and something stupid about how bedbugs probably love fat dogs. Michael shoved him. Still, he folded half the blanket over under himself, the other half over. How the floor was better than a bed, he didn't know, but he glanced at the gloves and agreed. Just for tonight. Just so no bedbugs ruined this end to a fine day.

They were out pretty quick, the television still flashing soft, different color light through the bedroom. Michael breathed deeply, slow, as he started to have vague, short dreams. A small bank robbery about to start, with his normal group and a few he didn't really know, soon switched to what seemed to be an alien abduction. Buying a new car. The trio, all young, together playing tennis. He smiled in his sleep. Chop ran into the court, offering his belly for petting and they all lavished him with rubs. Michael opened his eyes a little, taking a moment to remember he was home. He could still hear Chop panting.

He started to close his eyes again, but he froze at the sight. It was Trevor panting. His body was tight, tense, trying to keep his legs from curling into a tight ball. He wasn't scared, wasn't crying or shaking, but there was movement. Michael should yell at him, should do something, but Trevor was facing him, gripping the pillow under his head. His eyes were set on Michael, but Trevor didn't seem present. Wherever he was it was far, some thought or fantasy clouding his focus, and as soon as it had started it was done. His other hand went from the pillow to over his other fist and he shuddered a shudder different than what Michael was used to. His hips bucked 2, 3 times, and his shoulders slacked. He breathed deep and long, but slow, before he stood up in the space between the bed and Michael. With more grace than he should posses, he noiselessly made his way to the door. As he kept his messier hand up and turned the knob with the other, Michael realized the gloves had stayed on the whole time.

He should punch him when he came back. He should throw a pillow or call him out on his actions. He remembered then, young Trevor in the shower, genitals and skin raw. He swallowed. He should just go back to sleep.

"Wake up you sleepy ass!" Trevor socked foot pushed against Michael hip. He was awake immediately, and flinched at the memory from before.

"I'm sore, asshole. The back of my legs feel like someone grated my muscles."

"If you were in shape," Michael began, ignoring the stiff feeling in his own legs. He got a small kick for it.

He looked up a Trevor, who rubbed an itch on his nose with one finger. He still had gloves.

"It's a pizza for breakfast kind of morning." T declared. He threw on some previously unworn pair of pajamas, and sauntered, still too thin, out of the room.

Michael could feel a small burn in his face. Not enough to be noticeable by looking, but he was warm all the same. The coffee table had pizza bits and cereal bowls, and an open gallon of milk. Trevor was talking about how they really needed to get less fatty milk, but Michael just grunted back.

"Wuds eedin you?" Trevor asked through a spoonful of some sugary garbage he insisted he should have. Michael turned a little to look at him.

"… No bedbugs?"

"Nope," Trevor grabbed another slice. "I don't want to feel this crappy again, but running will put you out, man."

"Why did you do it?" Michael could shoot himself now. He regretted asking as soon as he did and prayed Trevor thought he was talking about running. When a silence came, he still spoke despite himself. "That night… at Franklin's I mean."  
Trevor laid back on the couch, his head on the armrest and his legs crossing, resting on Michael's slouching back and shoulders. He had a hand behind his head, the other between his chest and stomach. Michael knew it was a front, he was trying to look relaxed, but the time it took to answer showed he was trying to build up the nerve to speak.

"… She tried to hurt you." He finally muttered, slowly.

"She ain't the first." Michael was still regretting every word as he pushed them out, but if they didn't talk about it now, he didn't know when the chance would come again.

With a sniff, he guessed Trevor was crying, or tearing, but he didn't hear it in his voice. Trevor pointed a gloved finger at Michael, lazy and nonchalant. "It's about where…she hit you, M."

Michael thought about how much courage it was costing Trevor to speak. He tried to remember the fight. His face was scratched, he got kicked, he got hit. He got hit. _He got hit._ The small revelation made him turn to Trevor. "You mean-"

"Yeah. I mean." Trevor was starting to sound angry. Or defensive. Michael would take his chances. He placed two fingers over the scar he usually never thought about, felt the strange texture, felt his heart beating, beating, beating in his chest when he should have been still and quiet and rotted away so long ago.

He almost said "She couldn't have hurt me, T" but that wasn't right. Trevor would have then attacked her for nothing. Trevor had grown up under the fist of that woman and whoever she dragged into the house. Trevor lived everyday in fear, trying to appease and angry smoky dragon who couldn't be swayed by skinned knees or loose teeth or blackened eyes or pleading. The thought of Trevor as a boy, soft and meek like when Tracey and Jimmy were small, could have broken his defiantly beating heart. He was encapsulated for a single second in the feverish urge of protecting that child, of strangling that heartless bitch, of taking that neglected baby boy away from all the things that would mold him into…

He looked at Trevor and felt just a little ashamed. He couldn't help that child, and the child did grow up. What that child became though, still made Michael smile, was still the same snarky ass he spent years making a life with on the road.

"I love you, Trevor."

He wasn't surprised when Trevor didn't react. He hoped that somehow the words would reach that boy in a trailer, like maybe they would lead him to be with him on the couch like this decades later.

"You too, Mikey."

He took his legs off Michael and sat up, wanting to go into the kitchen, but he was weighed down by Michael's arms. He sank into the embrace. He could say he didn't need anyone to feel sorry for him, get off, I need to piss, but he didn't. Michael was still in a fatherly state of mind, and a brotherly mind, and a friend mind. Trevor put a hand on one of the arms.

"I still… want her." Trevor admitted.

"I know, kiddo."

Silence.

"I wish I didn't."

"I know."

Longer silence.

"You're tits are soft."

"I kn-"

Trevor fell off the couch, laughing. He clutched his sides and Michael wanted to kick him. He just stood and pressed his foot into the floor. He let Trevor drain out all the laughter and stress and bedbugs.

"I'm gonna throw up," Trevor clutched his stomach as he stood up, smiling from ear to ear and trying to hold back more laughing.

"Fuckin A," Michael shook his head.

He remembered last night. He didn't care.

"C'mon." Trevor led him to Archie's room and tried the handle.

"Oh. It's locked."

"Archie ain't in." Michael said, then he looked at the knob. "What the hell?"

"What?"

"There's a key hole!"

"So?"

"So I changed Jimmy's door handle when he tried to hid his pothead friend in here!"

Trevor's eyes shifted nervously, then he started trying to kick the door in. Michael protested but Trevor broke through and the door creaked open defeated.

Trevor glanced inside, "Ah, he's got a printer too!" and went off to his room.

Michael was confused but he went in. There was a printer just for pictures, a laptop, an some of Achaimbaud's few possessions. His small brown briefcase and long jacket were still gone, so no, he hadn't been back. He looked at the doorknob and tried to figure out when the switch happened. Round and silver, all the same except for the lock and keyhole.

Trevor came back in, holding the memory card. "While I'm here," he plopped down on the bed. "Might as well get my picture before you kill him." He opened the computer, pressed "guest" and inserted it.

Michael eyed him up and down, observing the apparent resignation of whatever drew Trevor to Archie. He looked around but there was nothing strange. The room was neat and for a second he felt like he was intruding someone else's space.  
"Hey, T. You-"

Trevor jaw was tight. His eyes were fixed, but then scanned the screen. He scrolled down, and his hand uncharacteristically moved to cover his mouth. Michael was next to him in an instant and tried to see what this was about.

Children. Children playing. Children unaware as they played with something on the shelf of a store. Children smiling up at them. Children in their rooms. Children in hotels. Children in the bath. Children nervous. Children crying. Children screaming. Uncomfortable children. Naked children.

Children violated.

Michael slammed the computer shut.

"I'm sorry," Trevor said. "I-I didn't know, he never-" Trevor's face went from white to red. "I'll kill him. I'LL FUCKING KILL HIM-"

"YOU'RE NOT DOING ANYTHING." Michael

"Yo!" someone called from downstairs. They looked at each other.

"Take off the gloves." Michael said quietly. "Just come downstairs, not a word of this to Franklin. We wait."

Trevor looked at him. He shook.

—

Trevor stayed in his room. Michael didn't want to leave him alone but he wasn't going to push it.

Franklin was aware now. "Man, I knew I didn't like that motherfucker!" He hissed."…What do we do?"

"Nothing. We don't call the police. We don't talk to T, we just wait here."

"Man, why!? We don't know where he is, he could be hurting some kid right now!"

"Listen." Michael's voice was hard. "We're _not_ going to be able to find him right now. He's coming home. And we're gonna fix this."  
Franklin wasn't satisfied, he was on edge and disgusted, but he wasn't stupid. Trevor was abused. Michael and Trevor had known each other forever. Whatever history was between them, Franklin still wasn't 100 percent filled in on, but upstairs, Trevor was still dealing with the discovery.

Trevor pulled out people's teeth. Trevor electrocuted people and Trevor could get rid of a body. Michael, as always, had a plan. Franklin thought about the kids and their families.

The door opened. Archie came in, wearing a new hat and carrying something. "Oh good, you're awake." He smiled. "Look! Strawberry Swirl White Chocolate cheesecake! I saw it and, well, my sweet-tooth told me I just had to bring it!"

"Looks great!" Michael said, his charm radiating like a nuclear blast. Whatever expression Franklin had on his face must've been a dead give away, but it was totally ignored in favor of the hypnotic swirls in overpriced sugary garbage.

"Go up and change into something comfy. T will be home soon."

Archie look proud of himself as he glowed back. He set it down and seemed to float up the stairs with his briefcase. Still with that dreamy smile on his face, Michael reached under the coach pillow and pulled out a hammer. He gave it to Franklin. "I want you to break his briefcase open."

"Shit, can do." Franklin took the hammer and they walked unhurriedly up the stairs.

Archaimbaud was frantic in his movements, trying to shove things into a bag and moving faster than his age should let him.

"What's cracking homie?" Franklin said.

Archie shot up, eyes wide and looking in all directions. They entered the room.

"What's in the briefcase, shitbag?" Michael said.

"Fuck you," Archaimbaud spat.

"Drop it on the ground." Michael said, too calm. Archie turned to look at a window, then back at Michael.

"You couldn't make that jump if you tried." Franklin said. Archie stupidly tried to dash between them to the door, but with one arm, Franklin caught him and threw him back. Franklin picked up the suitcase.

Trevor, slowly, walked in.

"Where's the party?" He said quietly. He looked at Archie, his crooked glasses resting on his crooked nose. Archie didn't look scared anymore. He was glaring at Trevor.

Franklin's arm swung the hammer, just a few times before the locks broke and the briefcase flew open. Photos and paper fluttered to the ground, and Franklin tossed the briefcase in surprised disgust.  
"Man this is what you been doing!? Michael, I can't wait no longer, I'm gonna-"

Michael was looking at Trevor. Trevor was looking at the floor. The aged photos had all of his attention. Different children than before. These we're some of the worst. Some of then showed a man, or men, with the children. There were even some with a blonde woman, and what she was doing to those kids was unspeakable. Sadistic. Violent. The adult's eyes and faces were scratched out when they didn't have a mask covering them.

"You look good in that one," Archaimbaud smiled from the floor.

Michael jumped on him, beating him in the face with his fists, telling him to shut up over and over. When he got back up, he fully realized what was being said.

"How do you know Trevor?"

"T," Franklin said quietly. He stepped closer to him. "T, man-" He stepped on the pictures to keep Trevor from looking.

"A drug ring," Archie said, holding his bloody nose. "I don't know if I'm proud or not."

"Answer me you piece of shit!" Michael kicked him hard in the ribs.

"I'm his father!" he finally said. He laughed a little. "Come to check up on my boy! I might have changed but I recognized my little boy right away."

"N-no," Trevor growled. "N-_No_."

"You're mother did about as well as I expected her to with you." He laughed, and his body relaxed. He knew he wasn't getting out.

Trevor was almost unrecognizable. He thrashed at the man, and it was raw and cold and sick. It was years of Trevor's mysterious memories coming out in a gruesome display of retaliation. It was sloppy and angry and he would break his hand before he reached pieces of skull into Archaimbaud's brain but it continued. In that moment he was a hundred children, little round faces from the computer screen and polaroids, tiny bodies splayed across beds and little legs curling away from the monsters around them. He was the end result. He was the culmination of babies who would die inside with blood between their legs, and grow up hollow in the shadow of undeserved betrayal. Archaimbaud was countless men, sick bastards who would come in take take from Trevor as if he had anything left to give. He was the asshole who started it all.

As the hammer smashed Archaimbaud's legs and he choked on a scream that wouldn't escape his throat, Trevor was relentless. Trevor was on a rampage.

"That's enough!" Franklin tackled Trevor to the ground, making him drop the hammer. "STOP! STOP!" He was angry as he struggled with Trevor "I've had enough! I've seen you falling apart for moths! I've seen what these people do to you man, it's over! You ain't gonna fix what happened! Stop fucking struggling! He can't hurt you again! Ain't no one gonna hurt you again!"

Trevor couldn't get him off. Either Franklin was too strong or Trevor was running on fumes but he kept trying. "Trevor! We got you man! We family ain't we?!"

Trevor finally stopped. They all listened, painfully, as Trevor let out one more wail. This one was different than the first at Franklin's house. It was still full of anguish, still cold and enraged, but somehow worse. He watched his father the whole time.

"… T." Franklin said. "When I grew up, this shit was all around the hood. I saw what it did to my friends. I saw a girl get kicked out and I saw seats in class that stayed empty. I had to act like I didn't know anything when they told me, because they made me promise. And you think you're all messed up like you ain't worth nothin. But you are, man. It's done. Ain't nobody gonna come near you again."

—

In the car they didn't try to coax Trevor out of his silence this time. When he did speak, it was a command.

"Take him where my mom is."

Archaimbaud struggled against the rope for a while. His feet finally stopped twitching. His mouth was still gagged, his hands zip tied together. A small stream of urine escaped his pants and fell across the woman's grave. Franklin looked to Michael, worried it would set Trevor off, but to their surprise, it didn't.

"Goodbye, Jaques." He said to the man. They looked at each other. 'Archie' had been another lie. The wind caused the body to sway, just a little.

Trevor had grabbed a staple gun before they left and no one asked about it. They didn't disagree when he took some photos out of the suitcase by the hanging tree, and as they left, stapled he them to trees. The last one he put up was a photo of himself.

He was on a bench, with a bandage on his knee and a half empty soda. His hands were dirty and he was so, so young. His eyes were big and his smile was so bright. Michael's heart sank into his gut. It was the most beautiful child he'd ever seen. When he saw Trevor of today get into the car, the stark difference didn't phase him. He saw no difference in the two. Trevor in the photo was the Trevor he knew, the real Trevor.

They tore up the carpet. They destroyed the computer. They stuffed whatever was left behind into garbage bags and Michael dries off wordlessly to dispose of it. Franklin sat with Trevor in the kitchen. They stared at a bottle of Jack but no one reached for it. Trevor got a cake knife, and but himself a slice of the cheesecake. He knew who had brought it.

He took a bite. He let out a slow exhale though his nose. He looked up at Franklin, and appeared thankful despite his straight face. "It' done."  
Franklin extended a fist and Trevor pressed it with his own.

"It's done."

They drank.

—-


	9. Chapter 9

I think the story will be reaching it's close soon. few more chapters so go. I kind of wish someone would adopt it when it's done and help rewrite it.

_**HINT HINT**_

It wasn't done.

Trevor could go days and seem to be fine, but then he'd wake up and be angry or shaking. The shaking was the worst. Michael would hold him, either in comfort or restraint, often in complete silence. He had no idea what to say. It had been so long since his words comforted anyone. His kids always told him he was making things worse. Amanda had been bitter for years.

He kept his arms clasped around Trevor until he was still. Sometimes he cried and Michael hated it. Sometimes Michael cried. He would hold Trevor still through a rant about "that child raping piece of shit, how dare he use me, how dare he-"

Trevor turned pale.

"I… I killed a man… protecting his kid from him."

That night was the worst by far. Lester, caught up with the situation one night, would figure out a way to anonymously send the mother a large sum of money. He actually took it out of his own savings.

"Just take care of T." He made Michael promise.

Every so often, he'd get out some drugs Franklin got for them. Michael was at wits end, or he wouldn't have asked. They stopped though, deciding he didn't need to be hooked again and withdrawl would make everything worse. They found out the hard way that Trevor can't feel valium. It was usually easier to have him take benadryl and sleep through the night. Ron was handling what was left of their meth business, but Michael stopped responding to him. He couldn't give less of a shit. Sometimes Franklin would take the dogs he was supposed to train or watch that day and bring them to the house instead. If Trevor was doing well that day, it was fun, and he fed them whatever he could. On bad days, they could sometimes lift his spirits, if only for a while. The gloves really helped.

Goodman would come to talk when Trevor couldn't be taken out. He wasn't told everything. Trevor's dad had been found, he was aware of the pedophilia. However strange his methods and his fanatic interest in Trevor, Michael decided Goodman was a good therapist. Maybe not a real one, but good enough for Trevor.

Trevor revealed that his dad left him sooner than Michael had thought. He says his teeth were more crooked and his nose hadn't been broken. He was clean shaven usually and it had been so long that Trevor simply couldn't remember he had red hair if he tried. He wasn't ever so thin.

Trevor would sometimes mutter "I'm sorry" in passing, or when they sat together to act like they were watching tv. Michael, his eyes giving away how tired he was, reached out and touched gloved fingers.

"There's nothing to apologize for."

It was hard seeing Trevor fight so hard against himself. It wasn't a case of an unstoppable force clashing with an immovable object. Michael was immovable, he swore to be. Trevor was an unstoppable force fighting an unstoppable force. Michael remembered Trevor as a child.

Then things seemed to improve again. Trevor was worn out. Michael worried that the instability would take a worse hold now but it didn't. Trevor, one morning, sat at the table across from him, and his head hung. He blinked slowly.

"You look like absolute shit, sugar tits."

Michael threw his head back, and close his eyes. Relief seemed to rise up like water around his body, and he breathed it in.

"Go shave your caveman beard, asshole."

Trevor called Franklin. It was too early for him to be awake, and his girlfriend for that week must've not appreciated the noise, but he spoke all the same.

"Man, never thought it could be so good to hear you on the phone." Franklin stretched out. "So what happened, T-pain? You sound way better. I mean, like shit still, but you're talking."

"Well, that, I don't know." Trevor said, inspecting his face for and cuts from shaving. "I'm dying for speed and I'm probably going to hump the next living thing I see-"

"_Don't_."

"Relax, no more of that dads and son crap for a while, ok? But, we're still family right?"

Franklin remembered when he said that. "Yeah T, to the grave. Or asylum."

"Good, good! Fucking Christ… I don't know. I woke up and I just… I ran out of juice. I know what happened and I'm not proud of it but… Right now I don't feel it. Nothing. Can that happen without drugs?"

"Yeah." Franklin remembered his friends from years ago. "It comes. and it goes. But it always comes back. And if it's happening now, shit, you can last till it comes back. If the drugs didn't kill you yet, I don't think this will either."

"They did, once. Heroin. But I came right back."

"O-oh. Wait, _What_? You died and you still peddling that shit?"

"No! Not heroin-"

"Anyway, I'm sure it won't happen again. Don't let me find out you do anything stupid like that while Michael's busting his ass for you."

"I'll behave, I'm behaving, I'm fucking bored! You just keep worrying about your dogs and your girlfriends. Tell Lamar I said hi- and remember!- You wrap it up. No pregnant strippers."

"Believe me, I don't want that. You be cool, man, I'll holla at you two when I can."

"Ten four, Frankie. Later."

Trevor looked in the mirror and gave a small sigh. It was weird not feeling anything. He didn't think he could get it up now if he tried. He didn't need to shoot up, or snort anything. He didn't feel like shaving, but it was something to do. Maybe he'd finally broken something and years of meth and explosive anger finally fried the part of him that kept him so actively boisterous. He wished he cared. His body felt heavy and numb all at once and he just felt like…. like some normal asshole off the street.

His face almost gave a small disgusted look. This isn't better after all. He'd rather feel like shit than feel nothing.

Or at least his mind told him that. The thought was rendered useless by a thick shield of apathy.

Michael felt like an idiot. On the way over to a diner for breakfast, he kept looking over at Trevor. He'd turn, wait, look away. Drive. Glance. Red light. Look again, open mouth, close it. Shift in his seat. Drive.

He felt like Trevor was just eating for show, but he did have most of his food. He even got a second coffee.

Ok. He's hungry. Sad people don't eat much. This is… a step.

No. No it's not.

Trevor didn't say anything about the group of goth girl teens and one guy making noise 3 tables down. A hipster in ridiculous clothes carrying a typewriter barely was worth a glance. He didn't care that the server was popping his gum.

He'd damaged Trevor, he was sure of it. Maybe it was all the benadryl or maybe restraining him had fucked something up in his brain or- Well he didn't know, he's not the therapist. Trevor never gave half a shit about killing people, why'd this have to happen now? Trevor was far too intimidating to be this… whatever this is. Trevor… He was just _unnerving_ in his silence.

"Michael?"

They looked up. Amanda was here. Amanda and some guy. Normal guy.

"Michael, Trevor… you two look like hell." She looked genuinely concerned, if not a little disgusted. She sent her date to find a table, she'd be with him soon.

"Hey, Amanda." Michael tried to smile. "Popular as ever."

She blushed but was surprised by the way he said it. It worried her more.

"What… whats… wrong with you two? Trevor…" She bit her lip and whispered. "Please don't tell me you two tried to pull something off that backfired. Shouldn't you be… I don't know, kidnapping the mayor's daughter, stealing the hope diamond or-"

"We're o-kie dokie." Trevor said slowly. Michael looked numbly up at him.

"We've been sorting a few things out. Actually, I'd like you to settle something for us."

Amanda did not want to. "… I don't… Can't you two… F-F-fine, okay, if it will alleviate this gray cloud over you two, sure, whatever."

"My buddy here has been overworking himself. What with that new job and all…" He sipped his coffee. "I think he needs to relax on the overtime. He should be dating again, don't you think?"

She turned a little more red. "You're not?"

"Uh…" Michael blinked stupidly.

"No, no, he's just swamped himself in his new little venture. He should get himself out there, right? Look at him."

Michael hated the look Amanda gave him. Worry and discomfort when he knew they'd rather not be near each other right now.

"Yes. Yes, Michael. You always bury yourself in whatever new thing you have going on." She looked at her waiting table and then back at the men in front of her. "Go. Go out and talk- go have a good time. Christ, you're 'retired' now, right? For good?… One date. With anybody. Just… just don't let the kids see you looking like that."

She looked over at Trevor. "And you. Maybe… I don't know. Maybe you should think about it too."

They waited for a shot at Trevor's lifestyle or how he shouldn't expect to get much of a woman, but it didn't come. Amanda stood there for a while, then just walked off to her table.

Michael put the tip money down the table and they went to the car. He didn't turn it on for a while. Trevor finally looked over.

"T…what?"

"What 'what'?"

"What did you say that for? You just trying to get her to leave?"

"Did you want her to stay?"

"No, god no."

"Well, its true. You're a rich, pompous ass with dark hair and light eyes and thats going to go away some day. Well, no, but you'll get old. You'll be a rich, pompous, dark hair and light eyed old guy."

"What's your point?"

"Don't you want to have someone to fuck? Isn't a house built for a family supposed to have more people in it than just you? Maybe a cat or something? You haven't had any contact with anyone but me and Franklin since we pulled that heist-"

"Are you trying to kick yourself out? Are you booting me out of your life?"

"No, I-"

Michael shook his head. The laughter than came from him was very loud in their car and he slumped over the steering wheel, gasping for breath and turning red. A familiar ghost of something close to annoyance came over Trevor.

"What the hell are you laughing at?" He landed a punch on Michael but he just kept laughing. When he surfaced again, he wiped his eyes a lot and still couldn't speak for a while.

"I dont- ha ha - I don't *snort* I don't want to go out on fucking dates, Trevor!" He wiped his eyes and folding his lips into his mouth to keep from laughing. "Man, oh my god. Her face was terrific. Trevor," He tried to talk but laughter took over again, quite this time. "Man… I can't, I can't even speak, let's go…" He laughed quietly again. "I don't know. Lets go get some groceries or something."

"Why is this funny to you?" Trevor sounded more like himself. "What kind of asshole are you?"

"I'm your favorite asshole and I really can't talk about this right now, please, my ribs are killing me-"

"What the hell is so funny?" He practically yelled.

"Oh God, Oh God," Michael laughed out, trying desperately to watch the road. "I missed you, you fucking idiot. Welcome back."

"I hate you, Michael."

They put away the new food. Trevor found the staple gun and stapled a sheet over the busted door without permission. He breathed in deep. There was still an absence in him, but Michael was an annoying fuck, and he was looking for any reason to be bothered. Kept things interesting. He missed himself too.

He glanced at his belongings for what to wear around the the house, put on his gloves, and made his way downstairs.

"You still have the dresses." Michael stated, still in a polo and shorts.

"Yes," Trevor said. "Not your business."

"Not at all."

Trevor found the garbage bags, and started getting rid of the accumulated junk that was cluttering the house. Michael fumbled with his phone, and more old music filled the house. Michael took care of the kitchen.

The call from Goodman was ignored. Michael had his first cigarette in weeks. Trevor pretended his pumps didn't hurt his feet. An oven-mitt caught on fire.

"I think I can stay in my room for now." Trevor said during some commercial.

"Why?"

Trevor turned to him, but Michael didn't look.

"Just stay in my room."

Trevor looked back at the TV.

"I really, really, don't want to date." Michael said quietly.

"Why the hell not?"

"I don't want some girl Tracey's age trying to seduce her inheritance away from me." He smiled. "I'll meet some sweet old prune someday, and we'll get matching colostomy bags, and we'll die together when our nurse screws up our medicines." He was laughing again. "If I make it that far. I always figured we'd kill each other first."

"We almost did." Trevor opened a can of beer.

All Michael could remember was himself yelling.

_Take the fucking shot!_

Trevor didn't. He threw his gun and ran.

Michael shot.

He shook when Trevor then asked him why. He couldn't speak for a moment. Trevor didn't look at him.

"You want the truth?"

"I wouldn't get it. Maybe you thought I was too much trouble. Maybe you chose your family again. Forget I asked-"

"You were trying to escape. I couldn't watch you go with you still hating me again."

"...What the fuck?"

Michael reached over and took Trevor's beer. "I was going to take you home with me full of holes if I had to. And I wasn't going to let you go until I knew your forgave me. If you couldn't walk again, I'd carry you with me my whole life, but I wasn't going to allow you to hate me again."

Michael took a drink. He was staring Trevor down. "Is that selfish enough for you?"

Trevor should be terrified, he knew that, but he wasn't. He was impressed. Michael finally looked away and as Trevor stared he suddenly remembered that, yes, Michael Townley - De Santa was a killer of men. He was a snake and a bastard and a mastermind who was forgiven by everyone but Trevor because of his classic style charm.

Trevor was fucking _honored_.

As an unfamiliar heat rose into his face and ears he looked away, and for the first time became very uncomfortable in his dress.

"You're telling me I should let you get away with that because you would have crippled me out of love?" He tried to sound gruff and intimidating.

"Love huh?" Michael said with a smile, still slipping channels. "Yeah, something like that."


End file.
